


everyone's in the movies (it doesn't matter who you are)

by janie_tangerine



Series: celluloid heroes [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Acting, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Gratuitous Movie References, I Don't Even Know, Jon Snow is a Good Bro, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Off-screen Relationship(s), Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ramsay is his own warning, Robb Stark is a Gift, Romantic Comedy, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, inspired by a lot of things, past theon/ramsay - Freeform, shameless (mis)use of U2 songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 01:49:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11636418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: where Theon is an actor shooting an indie movie in Ireland who happens to fallreallyhard for the local pub owner who hasn't recognized him.





	everyone's in the movies (it doesn't matter who you are)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TotemundTabu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/gifts).



> written for the 2017 theonexchange, for the prompt _Absolutely not out of the closet actor Theon meets Robb, who doesn't recognize him but falls for him_. I... might have had a bit too much fun with it. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING. I hope it works for you, receiver  <3
> 
>  **Further warnings** : there's past theon/ramsay in the context of a tv show they did together (ACTORS!) which includes Ramsay being himself and mentions in not-exactly-detail a lot of unpleasant situation including sexual acts Theon gets involved in after his drinks have been spiked. If that kind of thing upsets you please thread lightly whenever there's any hint of backstory being discussed.
> 
> Other things you might want to know before reading this:
> 
> \- The movie Theon's shooting is a remake of _[The Quiet Man](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Quiet_Man)_ , a 1952 comedy flick with John Wayne that happened to be extremely fitting to my purposes in here. You don't need to know what happens in it but if you want to read the plot it might help with the part strictly related to the actual movie shooting;  
> \- [Cong](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cong,_County_Mayo) is a very real place where the aforementioned movie was shot back in the day. The village Theon's staying in, is instead taken from book canon. Apologies to anyone from the area for the most likely inaccuracies that are in this fic;  
> \- [Unknown Caller](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6gezrVPZHZA) by U2 is a song you might wanna check out when you arrive at the middle of this.
> 
> Other than that: I own absolutely nothing, the characters are GRRM's, the title is from the author's favorite Kinks song and now I'm really done.

“No.”

“But Theon, it’s _steady work_. On a prestigious network. On a hit show. You can’t seriously be telling me you’d turn down a _lead_ role in –”

“Barbrey, for the _last_ time, I am _not_ working with anyone named Bolton ever again and that’s final.”

“But Ramsay asked _specifically_ for you! Those episodes you guest-starred in last season were a hit, and it’s at least another three years of guaranteed ComicCon appearances, which would _definitely_ do more for your bills than shooting indie remakes of _A Quiet Man_ , which no one is going to see –”

“ _Barbrey_ , I am _not_ ever setting a foot in a room with either Ramsay Bolton or his fucking father, there’s no guaranteed ComicCon guest money that would make me say yes to it, I’d rather be paid little for _indie remakes_ of good movies that put a new spin on the original content and you can bloody forget it. I said no. It’s a _no_.”

“I don’t understand what is so bad about those two –”

“Are you fucking _serious_?”

“Fine, they’re somewhat _quirky_ –”

“There’s no Stanislavsky method that justifies what happened on the last day I was on set with either of them, and there’s nothing that justifies the way they treat the rest of the cast, and that’s all you need to know. Now, either you call me with something I actually might want to accept or you let me finish this damned movie in peace. _Goodbye_.”

Theon closes the call and turns the phone off already – why the hell is _she_ his agent? Ah, right, she’s friends with his father and he accepted it in order to try to rebuild bridges he thought had been burned when he said he wanted to act instead of worrying about fishing boats.

Of course, the asshole changed his mind when he actually became _sort of famous_ (and now he wishes he never wanted fame in the first place), and Barbrey had good connections, so he accepted, and –

Yeah. Fuck that.

He sighs and checks the time. It’s not even eight PM, but he’s free for the rest of the day and he _really_ needs a drink.

Well, he thinks, he’s in Ireland. The place the production found him to sleep in is a small-ass village near the less small one where they’re filming his current project – a remake of _The Quiet Man_ in which Theon’s about the only name with some weight to it. It’s all local indie filmmakers from the area who wanted to shoot the movie in Cong, where the original had been made, but with a dramatic spin rather than comedic, set during the Troubles and with a few other upgrades that he found fairly great when he read the script.

Sure, they’re not paying him much even if most of the budget is set aside for _him_ , and it requires a lot of effort _and_ to live in Ireland two months, but honestly? After the time he spent working on Ramsay and Roose Bolton’s fucking horrible Middle Ages torture porn hit show in which they offered him a _lead role_ which he’s never going to accept, the prospect of two months far away from London, in the quiet and with people who were enthusiastic of the job sounded like music to his ears, and he honestly… really likes the part? He’s usually _not_ offered parts that once belonged to John Wayne out of everyone and everyone is enthusiastic about his approach to Sean Thornton, and – he’s been on set for maybe three days yet, and he thinks he will definitely enjoy his indie film more than he’d have _ever_ enjoyed going with Ramsay Bolton to fucking ComicCon.

Still, he hasn’t really looked much around Barrowtown, the place he’s staying in, so he figures, why the hell not. He had just gotten down from the bus he took from Cong – he insisted that he didn’t want the others to drive him, he wants a low profile – and it’s ten minutes on foot to the small apartment Mance, the executive producer, rent for him.

He’ll just walk. There _will_ be a pub here, or something of the kind.

He throws his phone back in his jacket’s pocket, and screw Barbrey if she keeps calling, and then he walks forward for a bit.

And then he sees that, indeed, there’s a pub just down the road. It looks small, it only has a few windows facing the street, but from what he can see it’s fairly cozy inside, and the name – _Winterfell_ – does seem to suit the building – it’s all white stone.

He breathes in, hopes that there’s no one in or that this isn’t the town where people watch _A Storm of Swords_ or go to the cinema at all, and pushes the door open.

The pub is thankfully empty, and he’s pleased to notice that it is _indeed_ very cozy – it has all booths with dark leather seats and white marble tables, and the black bar counter matches the rest of the black/white aesthetic they have going on. The music in the background is very low, and he’s not too surprised that it’s some old-ass U2 record. He’s about to ask if anyone’s in when the door of the kitchen slams open.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” a guy who has to be the owner says cheerfully as he takes off an apron and cleans his hands. “What can we get you? Or, well, what can _I_ get you, I suppose.”

The first thing Theon notices is that the owner looks damn _good_. Tall, definitely well-built though not overtly so, auburn curly hair that reaches his neck and huge blue eyes that really shouldn’t be _legal_ , not that size, and a face that seems out of some beauty contest – damn, he’s hot. The second thing he notices is that… he’s looking at Theon as if he’s just a random client.

God, it’s the first time in _years_ he doesn’t get recognized by _someone_ whenever he goes out to do something mundane. Could it be, or is the owner faking? Well, only one way to find out.

“Well, I was thinking dinner and a drink or two, if the kitchen’s open.”

“The kitchen is open until we close,” the owner says. “Sadly the only choice you have here is for alcohol. I mean, it’s just me and I can’t really make fifteen different dishes, so it’s either stew or shepherd’s pie. What will be your poison?”

“I can work with the pie,” Theon replies.

“Excellent. This is the drinks menu, you’re welcome to sit down and choose. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Theon sits at the first available booth and checks the menu. The owner comes back with a tablecloth, a plate and cutleryand Theon orders a glass of Jameson – he _really_ needs something strong after that conversation. He’s brought his drink in a minute or so – well, if anything Hot Owner is efficient – and while he’s back in the kitchen, Theon takes a better look at the place.

It’s all spotless clean, of course. There’s a picture of what he thinks is the current national Irish rugby team hung on the wall over Theon’s head, and then there’s some more behind the bar counter. He can’t quite make them from here, but it’s definitely family pictures – he sees a few more redheads starring in them, so he figures it’s the owner’s family. The only other picture is one of Hot Owner with _all_ of U2 in some kind of record shop, and it’s signed, too, but that’s about the only other piece of memorabilia.

“So,” he says when, not long later, the owner comes out of the kitchen with a plate of steaming hot pie, “something tells me you _do_ like U2, or am I wrong? Sorry if I’m prying, but –”

Hot Owner laughs. “Of course not, it’s okay. Everyone asks about that picture. And – well, I guess it’s a bit stereotypical but yeah, I do love their music. And – it’s really not much of a long story. They were in Galway for a promotional tour a while ago and there was some kind of contest where whoever sent the most convincing letter explaining why they should meet them would get a signed picture and a signed free new record. And, like, my siblings sent that letter in my stead because I wouldn’t have ever done it and I guess it worked because then I get a call saying I won, and that was the last time I left the county in the last eight years, but it was worth it.”

“Wow, _ten years_? Sorry, I’m being an asshole. It’s probably not my business –”

“Don’t, it’s okay. It’s what most people ask just after anyway.”

Hot owner smirks and says he’ll be back in a moment. Theon shrugs and goes back to his food and _damn_ , that pie is _good_ , he thinks as he eats it. Fine, it was obviously heated up, but it was also definitely baked _today_ , not two days ago.

“It’s delicious,” he tells Hot Owner as he comes back.

“Thanks. I can make a few things but I make them well.” He _winks_ before showing Theon a copy of the picture mounted on the wall. It’s – right. Hot Owner’s in the middle and he looks about seventeen, then there’s a slightly younger sister who looks exactly like him, with auburn hair and blue eyes, two younger brothers also blue-eyed and auburn-haired who can’t be older than eight and twelve, plus another brother and sister with dark hair and grey eyes, who obviously took after one of the two adults in the background rather than the other. The father has the dark and grey eyes and solemn face, the mother has the auburn hair and blue eyes. They look like they’re out of a Hallmark movie.

“That’d be the siblings?”

“Yeah,” Robb says fondly. “Well, long story short, my parents died in a car accident a few months after this was taken. I took over running the pub because someone _had_ to and I was the only one who could, and like, I’m the only one in here so I make enough money to keep everyone afloat but it’s not like I can spare money for vacation or going farther than Galway anyway.”

 _Damn_. That’s rough, Theon thinks. “Shit, sorry to hear it. Though I’m not sorry you’re running the show, because the food is really great.”

Hot Owner laughs. “Well, what can you do, when life serves you lemons, you make lemonade, right? And by now I’m supporting just three people and not six, maybe in a little while I can join the real world again. Though if I may ask…”

“Sure. I asked first, didn’t I?”

Theon _does_ like this guy, and the fact that they’re discussing _this_ easily when before caving in and finding a therapist, in that month between finishing filming the Bolton show and realizing he had to get his shit together, he’s been snappish with about everyone trying to ask him anything deeper than _isn’t the weather just horrid_ says a lot about how much.

“I haven’t seen you around before. Are you passing through?”

Theon, who definitely wants to come back here if only for the food, is _not_ going to lie about that. “No,” he says. “I’m staying here for the next two months or so.”

“… _two months_? Here? What could you possibly do in this forsaken neck of the woods for two months?”

Theon is _this_ tempted to tell the truth, but it’s obvious that Hot Owner doesn’t have much time for vacations _nor_ movies nor Ramsay’s TV show, which means that he doesn’t know who Theon is, and he’s really enjoying talking to someone without the whole ‘oh my god _are you a famous actor, for real_ ’ shtick, and every time someone learns usually they stop being genuine with him.

He doesn’t know if he wants that _now_.

Still, what the fuck could anyone do here for two months? It wasn’t a dumb question whatsoever.

“Uh, I, I write guidebooks.”

“Guidebooks? Really?”

“Yeah. I’m working on one about Ireland, and believe it or not this is an excellent place to travel all around the area. Right now, I’m checking things over in Cong.”

“Well, there’s a lot more to see there than here, I reckon, but – that’s interesting. I imagine you’ve been to a lot of places, haven’t you?”

 _You couldn’t imagine_ , Theon thinks wearily. “Enough,” he agrees. “Anyway, this place is definitely going on the book. Excellent food, good drinks and nice hosts, what else can someone ask for?”

Hot Owner _smirks_ back and Theon tries to not let himself think about what the hell he’s trying to do here. “I won’t be the one complaining if you bring me more business. That said, if you’re gonna be back, since I’m on a first name basis with all my clients… well, I’m Robb. Robb Stark.”

He extends a hand. Theon quickly cleans off his own and shakes it back. It’s rough, he notices, obviously from working in the kitchen so long. “Theon,” he says. “Theon… Harlaw.” Shit, if he had given Robb his true last name, he’d have fucked the entire charade.

“Nice to meet you then. And I’m looking forward to seeing you try the rest of our food, since you’re set on putting me on your guidebook.”

“Oh, I will, too.”

Robb smiles at him again and goes back beyond the counter.

Theon goes back to his food and thinks, _what the hell have I done_?

\--

He doesn’t stay after finishing his drink – sure as hell he doesn’t want to look like a creep – and as he walks back to his small apartment, he thinks again, _what the hell have I done_?

Well, okay, he lied about his job, but listen, it was nice to talk to someone who thought he was another regular Joe.

(There’s another reason he picked this script in the twenty he was sent in the last month – it’s that he was going to shoot the movie in a nice, quiet, _secluded_ place without people ganging up on him. He never was the kind of person who shied away from taking pictures with fans, but after that month on _A Storm of Swords_ he has developed a _real_ allergy to unwanted physical contact and he’d like to see it coming if it has to.)

And he just – he _hates_ it when people suddenly change their ways around him because they find out he’s famous and he was in a few movies with more famous people and he won a few indie awards and he was in _A Storm of Swords_. Robb seems like a nice guy, and he has a nice pub, and Theon would like to go back to it without having to wish for an anonymity he’s currently dreaming of most days.

Well, he figures, as long as he can keep up the guidebook writer stint – and he’s an _actor_ , he should be able to – he’s going to do fine, he decides, and tomorrow he’s definitely going back to Winterfell’s for dinner. Hopefully it’s open until late, since he has to be on set for longer than today. Today and the previous three days were all table reads and getting the feeling of the set and so on, tomorrow they’re actually starting to shoot and he should probably revise his lines. Good thing it’s just a few scenes in the beginning and that the director, this Dacey Mormont who might be shooting her debut full feature but has very clear ideas about directing, wants to do everything in chronological order. He always liked it better, it allows you to get a better feel of a character’s evolution, but he’s almost never that lucky when it comes to the order scenes are shot in. He should also meet all the local extras who couldn’t make it until today – well, hopefully it’s going to go as well as it had with his three main co-stars.

Heck, he _did_ luck out there. Ygritte Giantsbane, who plays Mary Kate in the updated version and whose red hair definitely fits the part, is a riot – she’s done a few movies and a some pilots in Scotland, where she was born, and she’s still not a huge name but given her temper, he’s sure she will be one soon, and she was okay in his book the moment she told him his acting was the only good thing about _A Storm of Swords_ and that her favorite movie of his was a modern retelling of _Hamlet_ which he did for free back in his early days and didn’t earn shit but was, in Theon’s opinion, a genius modern retelling.

(One day he _will_ play Hamlet in theater – just not today.)

Anyway, Ygritte is cool even if she’s a total handful, and he thinks he’s going to enjoy partnering with her more than he enjoyed partnering with _any_ of the people he shared a screen with in the last two years. Sandor Clegane, a local who got cast for a younger and less polite version of Michaeleen, has zero acting experience but is _good_. And then since they obviously ran out of budget, they cast Ygritte’s uncle as her on-screen father, but even if he’s never acted in anything in his entire life he does have talent and anyway, it’s an _indie flick_ where _he_ is the main draw and he’s working _way_ under his usual cachet. But he liked them, and they liked him, and he really wants to make this movie and he _really_ likes his character.

Especially since it’s nowhere like his usual – he always plays the handsome bad guy with a secret heart of gold and the sob story, and this would be a very welcome change. The wholesome guy who just wants to find a place to settle down and go back to his roots is nothing anyone’s ever thought him capable of playing before, and when Dacey told him that _he_ actually was her first choice – well, he could have accepted just for that.

Never mind that hey, John Wayne also was cast against type when he made this movie, right? God, he can’t believe she wanted _him_ to do this.

He takes out his keys and walks up to the first floor, and turns on his cellphone as he does, figuring he should check it even if he doesn’t feel like it. Ten lost calls from Barbrey, of course, two from his asshole of a father and a text from Dacey telling him that if he wants to be in Cong by eight AM, he has to take the bus leaving at half past seven. He thanks her and says he’ll be on time, and then the phone rings just as he sends the text.

It’s Asha.

“Hey,” he tells her. “Let me guess, is this about the two calls I lost from our illustrious father?”

“Yeah, and for the love of everything, _don’t_ answer him if he calls you again.”

“Do I want to know why?”

“He’s planning to use every possible argument he can find to convince you to accept that part on _A Storm of Swords_ and he won’t be above playing dirty.”

“… I told Barbrey it was out of the bloody question.”

“Yeah, and she called him to convince you.”

“Fuck’s sake – Asha, can you _please_ tell them I _really_ want to do this movie and that I am _not_ ever working in anything those two are involved in, and they can forget I’m bailing out on the production?”

“I _know_ , and I sort of told them already, but I guess I’ll try again. That said, don’t answer _him_ at least.”

“Duly noted.”

“At least how is it looking?”

“Oh, good. I mean, for being an indie movie they’re very well organized and professional, the others in the cast are great, it’s all very – laid back, I guess. The place I’m staying at is nice and I guess I kinda needed the quiet.”

“Hell, you _sound_ relieved. Were you that anxious to get out of London?”

“What if I was?”

She huffs. “Yeah, well, it was obvious that fucking show was ruining your health. And you really want to do this one movie, don’t you?”

“Listen, it’s just – they wanted _me_ for it. Never mind the bloody Bolton show, no one’s ever called _me_ as a first choice for a main lead that wasn’t my usual type. I love the original movie but this one’s a good adaptation of it, and I really dig the part, and – yeah. I really want to do this one.”

“I can hear it. Well, I’ll try to cover your ass as long as I can. Enjoy yourself, you deserved that.”

“Thanks.”

Well, at least _someone_ in his family is on his side.

“Everything all right?”

He almost startles before realizing it’s Davos Seaworth, the man who actually owns the room the production is renting to him.

“Oh, sure. Sorry, I was just talking to my sister.”

“No need to apologize. Is the room to your liking?”

“Sure. It’s lovely. Better than most hotels I’ve had to stay in.” Which is true – it’s a large room with a large window that lets in the sun, it’s clean, the bed is comfortable and he doesn’t feel boxed in or anything, which is more than he could say for a lot of his previous accommodations.

“The place isn’t that big,” Seaworth says, sounding apologetic. “I hope you don’t hate it too much.”

“Sometimes you need a break from the city,” Theon says. “And the pub’s good.”

“Oh, you’ve been to Robb’s. Well, yeah, he makes great food, nothing to say.”

“He didn’t recognize me,” Theon says.

“Sorry?”

“It was the first time in years I walked somewhere and someone didn’t know who I was. It was… refreshing?”

Davos snorts. “Well, if you don’t tell him, neither will I, but I doubt he’ll ever find out on his own. He can’t really leave the place for long, and he doesn’t own a television at his house and the one in the pub, he only uses for showing games. His sisters might know, but they’re off studying in Dublin and they won’t be back until summer, and his brothers live with him. What have you told him?”

“… That I’m writing a guidebook,” he shrugs. “I felt bad but – it really was refreshing.”

Seaworth shrugs. “Well, I won’t be the one tipping him. Have a nice night.”

“Same to you,” Theon replies, and gets inside the room.

He revises his lines before going to sleep, and it feels _weird_ to do it in complete silence without noise from down the road or rowdy neighbors or the likes, but –

It’s not bad.

It’s not bad at all.

\--

The next day he’s on set right on time – if anything, he’s always been professional and he’s not going to stop because it’s an indie flick – and he meets the rest of the locals plus most of the local crew which he hadn’t met before. Some are at their first movie and some are just out of film school, but they all look so excited to be there and so in love with their project, Theon can’t help wondering when was the last time he was working in such a nice atmosphere.

Also, he’s standing in the small train station right where John Wayne had been a quarter of a century and some ago and he’s so fucking _excited_ about this, he’s bursting with it. God, he can’t remember the last time he _wanted_ so badly to play a damned role.

The day goes by quickly – they do all of the early scenes in the station, a lot less on the funny side than in the original but then again in this one his character is Catholic and he’s going back to _Northern_ Ireland, makes sense they would cut down on half of the amusing stuff, and then they were supposed to start on the next batch but it starts raining cats and dogs and they need good weather for Sean’s return home.

“Well, we did good enough for the first day and we’re all still getting our footing,” Dacey declares. “I think we can call it a day. If tomorrow it still rains I guess we can shift the schedule a bit and start shooting some of the inside locations. Theon, are you sure you don’t need a ride back to Barrowtown? The bus doesn’t pass for an hour, at least.”

It’s – a tempting offer. “Yeah, just let me change.”

He goes to the small trailer they gave him, changes into his regular clothes, waits until everything is shut down under an umbrella that’s way too small for him and for _how much it’s raining_ , and then hops in the production van with Dacey at the wheel.

“Should I leave you at Seaworth’s?” She asks.

“No, leave me at the pub. I don’t really feel like cooking dinner.”

“Good choice, Robb _can_ make a mean shepherd’s pie. Have you been there already?”

“Yeah. Nice guy. He told me about meeting U2.”

“Shit, it was _all_ he could talk about for one month back in the day.”

“You know him?”

“We went to elementary school together and we see each other around sometimes. I’ve been trying to get him to act in some of my short films, but the most I could manage was him lending me the pub for half a day. A pity, I think he wouldn’t be half bad at acting.”

Theon doesn’t ask any further questions and checks his phone. Five lost calls from Barbrey, none from his father.

 _Good_. He should check his e-mail, but he can do that later. He thanks Dacey as she stops in front of Winterfell, then he runs into the pub – he’s halfway drenched, damn it.

“I suppose it wasn’t the right day to go around the moors, huh?”

 _Good thing Robb didn’t notice that he jumped out of Dacey’s car_. But maybe you can’t really see anything from _outside_ the window, given how much it’s bloody raining.

“The morning was lovely. The afternoon – not so much.”

“I hear you. Well, usually no one comes over when there’s this weather and no game night, so thanks for saving my finances for the day. What’ll you have?”

“What’s my choice of poison?”

Robb laughs and looks straight at him – damn, doesn’t he have _nice_ eyes.

“Well, there’s the shepherd’s pie, as usual. Or, white pudding, if you’re feeling like a change.”

“I guess I’ll take my chances on the pudding. And I’ll have an Irish coffee, too. I’m fucking freezing.”

“Coming right up,” Robb agrees, and soon enough, Theon’s seated and Robb’s left a nice, hot drink in front of him. After two sips, he feels like a damned new person – also Robb’s alcohol is _great_ , damn, does he _know_ anyone who really writes guidebooks who could put this place on them? – and he’s happily enjoying his third sip when two things happen almost at once.

First, some _seriously_ loud thunder booms from outside and almost makes him startle – shit, he’s never minded storms but since fucking Ramsay Bolton and his thrice-damned tv show he _hates_ loud noises he hadn’t thought were coming –, and then he hears a sound of shattered dishes and someone _screams_ in the kitchen.

The hell – it didn’t sound like Robb. And it sounded _bad_.

For a moment, he thinks he really shouldn’t pry, but it sounded like a _lot_ of shattered dishes and he doesn’t know what the hell’s going on. He should at least check if everything’s fine. He swallows his drink and stands up, heading behind the bar and almost knocking on the door.

He hears _someone_ talking softly from behind it – it’s Robb, definitely. But the rain’s coming down too strong and he can’t distinguish anything.

He knocks.

“Hey,” he says, “I heard something breaking, do you need any help?”

For a moment, he hears nothing, then –

“Actually, yes?” It sounds tentative, and it definitely was Robb. “Come in. Not too fast.”

Okay then. Theon opens the door, slow, and – oh. Robb’s crouching in a corner, talking to _someone else_ crouched in front of him with their back against the wall. Robb’s also holding that someone’s hands. That someone is _definitely_ having the mother of all panic attacks, _and_ they’re surrounded by broken dishes.

Given that he’s absolutely _no_ stranger to having the mother of all panic attacks, Theon decides to do what he’d prefer if he were in the other guy’s situation, whoever that is. “You need someone to get rid of the dishes, don’t you?”

“… Yeah. The broom’s in the storage room on your right. Thank you, I –”

“Never mind it, we’re good. You can let me have the Irish coffee for free.”

Robb snorts and says of course, and then he goes back to talking so very softly to the other guy.

Theon heads for the storage room and grabs the broom and dust pan, and then starts getting rid of the pieces of plates on the ground. Definitely IKEA, he thinks, but they were the best kind you find in there. He also can’t distinguish what Robb’s saying, his voice is too low and the rain is too strong, but he glances at those two once in a while and –

Well, if the other guy isn’t the brother who _didn’t_ look like Robb from the family picture, Theon’s going to eat his own hat. Well, the one he has to wear on set. It’s definitely him, even if older, and with a faint scar on his cheek that he didn’t have in that picture, nor the burned skin over his right arm.

He finds the trash, wraps everything in an old newspaper lying in the corner and proceeds to throw away the IKEA cheap porcelain covering the ground, and then leaves closing the door behind him.

His drink is still warm.

He finishes it.

\--

Twenty minutes later, there’s a plate of pudding in front of him and Robb’s sitting in front of him at the booth.

“On the house, as well,” he says.

“Hey, I was joking about the drink before,” Theon starts.

“And I wasn’t. Listen, you really helped out in there, and – it’s really nothing. Your fifteen quid wouldn’t have changed my life regardless.”

“Fine,” he says, “if you insist. But just – I know how it is.” He shrugs. He’s not sure he wants to go into details.

“I figured,” Robb says.

“What?”

“No one who _doesn’t know how it is_ would have just – proceeded the way you did.”

Theon shrugs again. “Let’s say I’ve had a bad experience in that sense.”

 _Good for me that I earn enough to afford a good therapist._ Who he should call – Brienne _did_ encourage him to take this damned job, she should know how it’s going.

“But,” he adds, “I have a feeling he’s had plenty worse.”

“I don’t think it’s a contest. Or well, that’s Jon’s opinion anyway.”

“That your brother’s name?”

“Yeah. Recognized him from the picture?”

“It was pretty obvious.”

He starts eating lest the food goes cold. Robb, who had brought some whiskey for himself over, takes a drink and slams the glass back down. “It’s just – shit, he says to apologize to you for ruining your dinner, but given that I’m trying to get into his damned head that he has nothing to apologize for –”

Theon knows the feeling even too well. “Tell him that it took me a month with a licensed therapist to get over apologizing to other people for feeling like shit, he doesn’t have to apologize to _me_.” God, good thing it’s been six months and he can talk about it.

Robb looks at him with – _respect_?

“I will. Thanks, really.”

“Was nothing. And your pudding is great.”

Robb smiles tiredly and nods before heading back to the kitchen.

Well then.

Theon finishes eating and wonders if he should just leave or not, since he apparently doesn’t have to pay. He leaves a five quid tip anyway and puts his jacket back on – he _really_ is feeling tired now – and he’s about to get out of the door when –

“Hey, uh, Theon, could I talk to you one moment?”

Robb sounds like he’s hella embarrassed, and he’s kind of flushing, and Theon can’t help thinking, _he’s cute._

Damn it.

 _Damn it_. He knew it was going to happen.

“Of course. Shoot.”

“Right, uh, let’s just –” He motions towards the booth right under the U2 picture – the most secluded one. Theon sits down.

“Right. Listen, I’m feeling like shit asking you since we’ve talked for like, two times, and please feel free to say no, but… could I ask you a favor?”

“Let’s hear it,” Theon shrugs.

“Okay. Shit, here it goes. So, uh, Jon. I suppose you might’ve guessed what’s his deal, didn’t you?”

Theon shrugs. “Given how his _arm_ looked and that I imagine he was helping you with the plates and dropped them when it started raining hard… military?”

Robb looks impressed. “Wow. Yeah, military. I mean, long story short, he’s a few months younger than I am and he still was underage when our father died. I wasn’t.”

“Not his mother?”

“No. Long story. Anyway, I told him that he didn’t _have_ to drop out of school to help out. But he did his math and decided that I couldn’t possibly pay the bills for another five people and I needed one more paycheck and long story short, he enlists even if he’s always hated the military because it was what would’ve paid best at his age. Of course he gets shipped to bloody Iraq two years later – I mean, _my_ mother was Irish, my father and _his_ mother were not so he could join _their_ army – and he comes back two years later. Not as well as he could have. It’s been a couple years since then and – he’s helping me out down here even if he refuses to let me pay him even if I _could_ , but other than that he’s really not left the place for long. And like, there’s no one he could _talk_ to here, least of all therapists, never mind that I don’t know if I could afford _that_ on top of everything else.”

“Shit,” Theon says, “that’s tough.”

“Whatever. I don’t mind, but – it’s really not healthy. And – if you go around here, I guess you’re on your own most of the time?”

“Most of,” Theon lies, and hopes it didn’t bleed through.

“I – I know it sounds like I’m taking advantage, but maybe – he doesn’t even know I’m asking you, but he used to take pretty good pictures back in the day. If I tell him you mentioned needing a photographer, you’d mind having him come with a few times? I mean, of course you can say no, and _he_ could, but – I saw that you’d know what to do if he has an episode, and I think talking to me isn’t enough anymore. And he also needs to get out of the house.”

Well, _shit_.

Thing is: Theon _does_ like Robb, as much as you can like someone you’ve met twice. And Robb’s looking at him like he’s not expecting him to accept, and given that the guy has spent half of his life supporting other people he’s probably not adjusted to being helped out anyway.

And he’s asking _him_.

Theon really needs to fucking call his therapist, because _he_ ’s hardly the most reliable person he’d ask anything of the kind. Especially when his coping methods work for _him_ but he doubts they would for anyone else.

“Tell you what,” he says, figuring he’ll take some time, “the next couple of days I’m out until late and I probably won’t be able to come at yours anyway, but… well, ask him if he’d be up for it and if he is he can come talk to me and we can see if it’s doable.”

Which is a _very_ long-winded way to take time and trying to figure out how to spin it, but then Robb’s lips break into a relieved smile that _lights up his entire face and how is he this attractive, it’s not legal_ , and Theon thinks, _damn, I have a feeling I’m kind of fucked here._

“Of course,” he says, “I would have had to break it to him first anyway. Wow, just – even if it doesn’t pan out, really, thanks.”

“Hey, it’s nothing. Let me know or just send him over to my place some three days from now. I’m staying at Davos Seaworth’s.”

“Right, I know him. Sure, I’ll let you know. And – thanks again. I just – I’m just so worried, you know?”

“I _know_ ,” Theon says, and thinks bitterly, _if only I had had someone like this with me when I was working on that dumb show_. It’s a bit unfair to Asha, true, because he didn’t tell her and she didn’t know and she wasn’t even in the UK at that point, but still –

No point in being jealous of someone who has it probably worse than he did because he has a support system. “See you soon them. Or him. Whichever of you it is.”

“Sure. And next time the drinks are on the house.”

“Don’t lose too much money on my account, Stark.”

“Fuck off,” Robb replies amiably, and Theon thinks, _was I ever this casually friendly with anyone_?

Shit. He’s _way_ over in his head here and it’s not even been a bloody week.

\--

The next day he has literally no time to think about it – he has to shoot his first scenes with Ygritte, he spends the afternoon taking riding lessons because even if he uses a motorcycle and not a horse to move around (it’s set in the eighties after all), updated Sean Thornton still owns a farm outside town and _should_ know how to ride a horse and he has no idea how to ride one _bareback_ and by the time they drive him back home, because the last bus has long passed, he’s too tired to do anything more than eating a granola bar.

The _next_ day, though, they don’t have to shoot – it’s mostly boxing rehearsal in the afternoon while the morning he has to be in the town’s small gym.

(Sadly, he only had one month of forewarning and it wasn’t enough to put on enough bulk to pass as a middleweight boxer – he _tried_ but as it is they’re agreeing that he’s just going to hit the gym four or five days out of seven and see if he can get there, otherwise they change the script and he’s going to pass for lightweight and they should be covered, and they’re shooting the boxing and fisticuff match scenes for last, so hopefully it’ll be enough time on top of the month he spent in his London gym. Dacey was very clear on _not_ wanting him to ruin his health for this, another thing for which he’s _plenty_ grateful given that he _did_ almost ruin his health on _A Storm of Swords_.)

After a light lunch, he’s in the interior set the should use for the boxing match where he’s supposed to spend a few ours dicking around with a few instructors and Tormund, and _then_ he hears the conversation Dacey’s having with Pyp, their social media manager.

“Pyp, I _can’t_ pay a professional photographer.”

“I _know_ ,” Pyp says, “but some distributors are interested, _vaguely_ , and a few asked if I could send them some _good_ production pictures. Are you sure Jory can’t like, spare some time?”

“Jory has to think about the photography and the lightening in the movie, I can’t ask him to take pictures of the set. And everyone else has other things to do. Either you settle with whatever or I can’t _hire_ someone just for that. We’re barely keeping within budget as it is.”

“But it would _help_ so much,” Pyp sighs.

“Er,” Theon asks, “you’re looking for someone to take professional pictures?”

“Why, you know someone who’d come here for free paying for their own room to do it for the next two months?” Dacey asks. “Because if you do, let me know.”

 _Didn’t Robb say his brother was good at taking pictures_?

“Uh, er, not exactly, but maybe I know someone who lives around here who knows someone else who might do it. Just – I’ll let you know in two days?”

“Greyjoy,” Dacey replies, “if you actually find someone – I can’t give you a percentage on the earnings because it’ll be enough if someone actually buys the movie, but the next movie I shoot, I’m writing it for you.”

“Well, you’re better than most directors I’ve been with, so consider it a yes. Anyway, I, uh, I’ll let you know.”

 _What the fuck is he even doing_?

That evening, he also comes back late, but instead of going to bed straight, he calls Brienne.

“ _Theon_?” She asks, sounding worried. “Is everything all right? Are you –”

“I’m fine, thanks,” he says, figuring he should let her know he’s not calling her because he’s just had a massive breakdown. “It’s just – er, listen, I really need advice here and my sister isn’t a good option, and – I might have… you know when you said I had to try and reach out to people and give them a chance? Even if I thought they’d see me different knowing who I was?”

“Yeah, I remember that. So?”

“… I might have overdone it.”

“ _Overdone_ it.”

“Right. Shit, I – okay, I’m shooting the movie in a village in the middle of Ireland and I’m staying in an even smaller one.”

“Yes. And how is it going?”

“The movie is amazing and everything’s fine. The thing is – the local pub. I went into it. I met the owner. The owner _doesn’t know who I am_. Like, at all. And – he’s young. And he’s kind of my type. And I kind of like him. And I might have told him I’m here to write a guidebook because I didn’t want to spoil it, you know? Like, because it had been years since someone didn’t recognize me.”

“Theon, _lying_ to someone is hardly the best way to –”

“I know, I _know_ , but that’s not the point. The point is – cute guy, _Robb_ , he’s got a brother who came back from the military pretty bad off, from what it seemed, and – I sort of witnessed it, it’s complicated, but he was impressed with how I _handled_ it, and then he comes and asks me if I could let him come with me on some of my _excursions_ , since he thinks I’m _writing a guidebook_ and like, the guy could use some company of someone with shared life experience.”

“… That sounds like a problem.”

“Yeah, but I’m not over. I mean, today on set I found out they’re looking for a photographer for promotional reasons and Robb told me his brother was actually good at it, so – like, in theory, I could just bring the guy along if he can handle it, but I should tell _him_ , and if _he_ knows then Robb will know and – yeah. That’s it. Now please tell me what in fucking hell do I do here, because I just – I don’t even know.”

For a moment, Brienne says nothing. Then –

“Is it _really_ important that this Robb doesn’t know who you are?”

“Yes? I mean – I don’t know, _everyone_ changes their opinion once they know. I want to be sure before I say it. And it’s the first time I’m getting to know someone _without_ them knowing I’m somewhat famous in the last seven years or so.”

“There’s no danger he might find out anyway?”

“Not really. Not unless he’s told.”

Brienne sighs. “Listen, this is strictly off the book, and just know that I’m advising you to _tell him_ as soon as you think is appropriate, which means… sooner than _you_ would judge. But if you want to bring his brother on set you can’t lie to him, so just be straight with _him_ and try to make him understand what’s your deal. Maybe he’ll play along. If he doesn’t play along _tell_ this Robb what you just told me as soon as possible, if the entire thing ends up with you helping his brother out he’ll probably forgive you. If he’s the kind.”

“He looks like it.”

“Good. That said, if you like this guy you _could_ and should see if it goes somewhere. You haven’t _liked_ anyone since you started seeing me, it can’t be a bad thing.”

“Right. Okay. I mean, I don’t know –”

“Theon, what’s wrong with _you_?”

“… A lot of things but not my baggage?”

“Good answer. Now get some sleep and for the love of everything _trust_ people once in a while.”

“Hey, I trust _you_.”

“I don’t count.”

… Right. Good point. He closes the call, ignores both Barbrey and his father sending him texts – he deletes without even reading them – and goes to sleep. He has more gym and more boxing practice tomorrow while the others shoot a few scenes he’s not supposed to be in and he should probably wake up early to revise his lines for the day after tomorrow.

Still.

He falls asleep thinking, _I hope this doesn’t come back to hit me in the face_ , but he has a fairly strong feeling it might.

\--

And then it sort of does, because the next evening Davos knocks on his door.

“Do I want to know why Robb’s brother politely asked if Mr. _Theon Harlaw_ was in?”

“… Maybe. But – er, I’ll be downstairs. He’s there, right?”

“He’s there.” Davos is looking amused though. _Good for him_.

Theon throws on his jacket and goes downstairs.

Robb’s brother is in fact standing in front of the door and now that Theon takes a good look at him – yeah. Definitely _older_ than his picture counterpart. Also, he’s _all_ dressed in black – Theon almost wants to joke about early 2000s emo culture, but he decides he won’t in case Robb’s brother is not the person with a sense of humor.

“Uh, hi,” he says, figuring one of them should break the ice. “Jon, right?”

“Yeah. Theon, right?”

“… Yeah. Er, I hope everything’s fine?”

“Better than a couple days ago. Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize.”

“Listen, I – I _know_ this is uncomfortable and I’ve only come here because Robb looked excited about it, and really, he means well, but you don’t have to do this.”

Theon almost cringes. He thinks he can hear himself from five months ago – Christ, has it only been _five months_?

“Never mind your brother, do _you_ want to do it?”

Jon shrugs, then looks back up at him with grey eyes that look a lot older than the mid-twenties he has to be in.

“Can’t do any harm. Not that going around the countryside ever was my favorite past time, but he’s right about me needing to get out of the house more often.”

“About _that_. Robb said you could take pictures?”

“I used to. I haven’t in a while. Still got my camera. Why, you need a photographer?”

 _Be straight with him_ , Brienne had said.

“Listen, just – come upstairs a moment. I’ll explain you.”

He’s _sure_ he hears Davos laughing from _somewhere_ behind them as he leads the way.

He chooses to ignore it.

When Jon is in, he sighs. Here it goes. “Okay, listen, now – just let me talk. I haven’t been _entirely_ straight with your brother.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

Huh. It took nothing for him to go from pretty much apathetic to _angry_. Better than staying apathetic.

“ _Chill_ , it’s that I’m not here to write a book. I’m shooting a movie.”

“You’re _what_?” Jon’s anger deflates, a bit, and Theon throws his script at him.

“I’m an _actor_ ,” he says. “And sadly, I’ve done enough half-successful things in my life that people recognize me in airports and the likes. I’m shooting this indie movie in Cong. Which was – well, the alternative was going back to work with the people who made sure I needed to find a therapist and that I knew what the hell was going on with you two days ago.”

“Okay. Fair. And why doesn’t Robb know?”

“Because _he didn’t recognize me_?”

“I didn’t either.”

“Never mind that. I mean, I walked into the place and he treated me like a regular customer and you don’t even want to know _how much_ I missed it. Every time someone recognizes me or realizes I’m famous, they change their attitude, and I just – I was relishing the anonymity, okay?”

Jon gives him a half nod as he thumbs through the script – he’s obviously not angry anymore, even if he’s still somewhat puzzled.

“All right, fair, and why are you telling _me_? You could have just told me to fuck off.”

“I _could_ , but – case is, I think you might actually help out on set, first, and… never mind.”

“What, _I_ could help out? I can’t act or anything.”

“No, but they need a professional photographer or at least someone who’s good at it because they need to put pictures on social media and they don’t have any money to pay one. That’s why I asked you about it before.”

“… And what’s the _never mind_ part of that equation?”

He hasn’t said no, at least. And Brienne said it – _be straight with him_.

“… I kind of like your brother and he seemed very happy at the prospect of you getting a break or whatever and since you could actually be useful on set, there was no reason to tell you to fuck off?”

“You _like_ my brother.”

“He’s nice, all right? And again, I hadn’t talked that freely to someone in _years_.”

“So according to you I should come with you to Cong to take pictures and if Robb asks how it’s going I just tell him that we’ve been walking around in the countryside?”

“… I know it sounds fishy. But I swear, I just – I’m here for two months. I want to talk to _someone_ without them knowing who I am or looking me up online or the likes. Or even worse, watching the fucking show I was in last year.”

“… Wait, was it that trashy Middle Ages cable thing that everyone watches which is basically sex, blood, more sex and more blood that some of my old academy friends recommended me to hell and back and which gave me nightmares the one time I watched it? _A Storm of Swords_ or whatever? I saw like, the pilot, and that was it.”

“… Yeah. Like – you couldn’t have seen me on it because I had a recurring role in the last half of last season. I didn’t even want to be on it but it was a steady income and it was really well paid, so I took it and… listen, let’s just say that I quit after the contract was over and the first thing I did after was finding a _good_ therapist. They were _that_ bad. And I’m here also because it gave me an out to _not_ be in London and answer their calls, never mind that I do like this movie a lot, so – yeah. I can’t ask you to, of course, but – I don’t want him to know. For now.”

Jon closes the script and _stares_ at him, for a long time. Then –

“Any other day I’d call bullshit. _But_ Robb has spent three days singing your praises and blushing when Bran mentioned you – Bran is one of the younger brothers, by the way – and he hasn’t done that since _high school_. As in, when he started running the business so we wouldn’t all starve. He obviously likes you. In _some_ twisted way, I guess you also like him, and fuck me but I can sort of understand where you come from. I mean. I wish I didn’t, but I do. If I met _anyone_ new I wouldn’t want them to know where the hell I fucked up my life, so. _And_ – I’ll admit your offer is tempting. I mean, I need to get out of the damned house at some point. You also don’t look like a complete asshole. So, even if I think Robb wouldn’t give two fucks about you being _famous_ or anything, let’s say that he won’t find out from me, _for now_. But like, you don’t need to do that.”

Theon breathes out in relief. “Maybe, but just – I’d rather not. For now – just don’t tell him. Please?”

“… Fine. Shouldn’t you worry about telling them you’re actually bringing me along?”

… Good point. Theon grabs his phone and dials Dacey’s number.

“Hey, Dacey?”

“Theon. What’s the news?”

“Uh, remember that I told you about the photographer?”

“Right. How about that?”

Shit, she _knows_ Robb, though. She should know Jon, too, right? He shouldn’t probably tell her on the phone.

“Someone I met at Robb’s pub. And he’s currently, well, not otherwise busy. He could come. Regularly, I guess?”

Jon’s eyes go slightly wide, but he gives Theon a nod. _Good_.

“Are you serious?”

“Hell, he lives here. He’d just come with me, I guess.”

“And he’d do it for free?”

“Buy him lunch, I guess.”

“Well, of course, _of course_ , but – is he sure?”

“The director wants to know if you’re sure.”

“I’m here, am I not?” Jon shrugs.

“He says he is.”

“Greyjoy, I’m writing you _three_ movies for this. What’s the name, so I tell Grenn to let him in tomorrow?”

“Uh, Jon –”

“Snow,” Jon interrupts him.

 _The hell_?

“Jon Snow,” Theon says.

“Okay, excellent, see you both tomorrow. Theon, you’re a _life saver_ ,” she tells him.

Well, at least someone appreciates him?

“Can I know why _Snow_ or is that too personal?”

“You’re finding me a job, sort of, I guess it’s not. But never mind. Robb told you we had the same father, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, ain’t too true. He was my uncle. I mean, my mom was Robb’s aunt, but she had me with this rich guy whose family did not approve and it was a small town, so they ran off and – er, the rich guy’s family found them out and dragged my _biological_ father back to their manor, my mother died of birth complications, I ended up in the system until I was nine or so and that was the surname they threw at me until my uncle tracked me down, and – I mean, they were going to give me their name, but then rich asshole relatives didn’t want the entire sordid mess to be known and threatened to sue and libel and whatever so they had to leave me with the old one and pretend they were fostering me. Everyone knew it wasn’t like that, but whatever. So – could have been worse, I guess.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Theon says, “condolences on crappy relatives.”

“What can I do. So, should I be here tomorrow, when?”

“Seven thirty AM.”

“No problem, I can’t sleep anyway.”

He waves goodbye and goes back home, and Theon doesn’t know if he’s just dodged a bullet or just dug himself deeper in his own grave.

\--

The next morning, Jon Snow is in front of his door with a _good_ camera (albeit a bit old) in his hands and a fairly nonplussed impression.

“Man, I know it’s early, but you’re going on a movie set. Don’t _brood_ like that.”

“It’s too early for bad jokes about my brooding, _Theon_.”

“You know emo culture is dead?”

“ _Emo culture_. I like Nirvana, shut up.”

 _A lot of things are explained_ , Theon thinks, and then heads towards the bus stop. Hopefully this goes over well.

\--

On the bus, he’s tempted to give Jon some kind of heads-up about how the set works and the likes, but the thing is – he has a feeling the guy is going to punch him in the face if he assumes that Theon is doing it because he thinks he might have another episode, so he keeps his mouth shut. It’s already enough that the guy agreed to keep up the charade with his brother, he can’t push it.

They’re on set at eight AM sharp and Dacey’s there to welcome them.

“Hey, you must be Jon, right?”

Huh. She doesn’t seem to recognize him, but what did she say? That she went to elementary school with Robb? And Jon said he came to live with them when he was _nine_.

She probably missed him being around.

“Yes,” Jon says, purposefully using his not-burned hand to shake hers. “I, uh, you’re Dacey, right? Thanks for having me, I –”

“Jon,” she interrupts, handing him a visitor badge, “ _we_ are the ones who should be thanking you for working for us _for free_ , maybe we can find out some way to compensate you when someone buys the movie –”

“It’s okay, really, I don’t need –”

“ _Nonsense_ , work should be rewarded. Oh, nice camera you’ve got there, Jory would appreciate. Jory’s the director of photography. Actually, I should probably introduce you since the point is – just, taking pictures of everyone. Theon, you mind if I drag him around?”

“Be my guest, I have four hours of lifting weights in front of me.”

“Don’t overdo it!”

“Don’t worry, the trainer wouldn’t let me. Well, Jon, _have fun_ ,” he smirks, and heads for the gym hoping that nothing goes over badly.

Four hours later, he heads over to the empty warehouse they rent where they set up some kind of mess hall, except that the food is actually good. The kid in charge goes by Hot Pie (Theon couldn’t learn his given name) and he _definitely_ lives up to his nickname since the food is excellent.

And there he finds Jon sitting at a table in deep conversation with Sam Tarly, the assistant director – scratch it, the _nicest_ assistant director Theon’s ever ran into in his entire life. Huh. They seem to be having a great time, so Theon doesn’t intrude and joins Ygritte at her table.

“I see you found us the photographer, huh?”

“I might have. Why?”

Ygritte shrugs. “I’ve only seen him from afar, but he’s cute.”

 _What_?

“Sorry?”

“He’s cute. Why, you don’t agree?”

“Not my type,” Theon replies. _Even if his brother is._ “I have different tastes in men.”

“Fair. I have no concurrence then, from you at least.”

“Wait, you’re going to hit on him?”

“I could be considering it,” she says, with all the calm in the world, “but maybe he should have a couple of days to get used to the climate.” Then she grins and digs down into her stew and Theon thinks, _she can be fucking terrifying_.

Still, he doesn’t warn her or anything because he wouldn’t want anyone to jeopardize _his_ chances if he was in Jon’s position, and anyway it’s not his business.

“By the way,” she says, “we’re doing the church scene later. As soon as we’re done, we need to head to make-up.”

“Right, fair point. I’ll be with you.”

They go to make-up, he lets Gilly – the make-up artist – do her work and they spend the next few hours on the church scenes, which are of course greatly expanded from the original, and by the time they’re done, it’s dark and he’s so tired he can barely stand. Good thing he has no gym tomorrow.

They make it in time for the last bus.

“So?” He asks Jon, halfway into the ride.

“It was okay,” Jon says. “I mean, they’re nice. I expected it to be – more chaotic?”

“It’s calmer than usual,” Theon tells him. “And they’re all new to the job, so they’re not as terrible as consummated professionals can get. Do you want to come back?”

“I _told_ them I’d take the damned pictures, I’d do it even if I didn’t want to.”

“And you want to because chatting with the AD is a good past time?”

Jon _stares_ at him. “He showed me around and turns out we like the original Star Trek best, it _is_ a good past time.”

“Well, knock yourself out. I’m always taking the same bus.”

“Hm. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

They say nothing until they get off their stop. Jon glances at the street leading to the pub – Theon should take the one in the other direction. Then –

“I’m telling Robb we went to Cong for the guidebook and I saw an advertisement for taking pictures in some movie they’re shooting there so I don’t have to _outright_ lie to him. I’m not telling him you’re acting in it, but I still think it’s ridiculous.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“Fine. Is it okay with you?”

“Sure.”

“Right. Then see you tomorrow. And – well. Thanks.”

“ _What_?”

He never gets an answer because Jon disappears in the alley and he’s too tired to follow him.

 _What the hell_.

\--

The next day, they’re done a lot sooner – they’re doing more rehearsals and table reads, which Jon takes pictures of – and only re-do some extra shots for the church scenes. Theon is _really_ glad that while the budget is low Dacey decided to take as long as possible to make the damned movie, but then again if she wants to sell it and wants to make it as good as possible, it’s the best course of action. By the time they’re done, he tells Jon he’s coming over for dinner.

“Well, someone will be happy,” Jon says, shrugging, and when they’re at Winterfell’s, he disappears upstairs. There are a few other patrons tonight, watching some football game on the television, but the moment Robb sees him at his usual place he’s there in moments.

“Nice seeing you around,” he says, “I thought you had moved somewhere else.”

“Not going anywhere for a long while, I just was really bloody tired these last few days. What’s my choice today?”

“What were you feeling like?”

“Stew would be nice, actually –”

“Then it can be worked out. Drinks?”

“Half a pint of Guinness, thanks. I’ve got to get up early tomorrow.”

“Coming,” Robb beams, and goes to get his alcohol.

Well, _okay then_. He only has to wait a bit longer than usual before stew that was obviously freshly cooked is in front of him, and – wait.

“This wasn’t on the menu, was it?”

“I have good reasons to make an exception. Enjoy your dinner!”

Robb dashes back to three other people who just came in and Theon digs into his food. _It wasn’t on the menu._

Right. Robb probably wants to thank him for dragging Jon around, it’s not too complicated to get there –

And who is he to complain? He enjoys his food and since he sees that Robb is busy, and since he knows how much the bill is, he leaves enough money to cover for it and the tip, too, and slides quietly out of the place.

He’s going to be back tomorrow, anyway.

\--

The next two days are busy in the same way, and well – it’s a weekend, of course they would be, in between games and all. Production is shut down on week-ends because Dacey also edits the film and wants to get ahead and look at all the material she has to get herself a headstart, so he has nothing to do over than revising lines, but it’s fine. Since _when_ he’s had time to revise the script with this much calm anyway?

Then, the next Monday, they spend the day on the scene where he kisses Ygritte the first time, which takes a _hell of a lot of time_ because it’s long, it’s all inside a decrepit small shack, the wind serves them well but there’s _too much_ of it and at some point one of the shutters of the old house almost hits her in the face and Jon, who was near there to snap a picture, stops it before it can hit her in the face.

“Huh,” she says, turning towards him, and Theon knows she’s not wasting her chance. “Nice save.”

“It was nothing,” he mutters.

“If that caught me in the face, it’d have been _hours_ lost to the make-up department, _Jon Snow_. If you thought it was nothing, you know nothing.”

“Er, well, no problem. I mean. I was here.”

Ygritte _grins_ in a way that’s almost scary. “Be _here_ more often then, you never know if it might happen again. Greyjoy, are we doing this next scene or not?”

Theon glances at Jon.

He looks completely flabbergasted at having just realize Ygritte was _hitting on him_.

But he doesn’t look freaked out.

Huh. “I’m not the one who was getting almost mauled by a fucking shutter. Whenever you want.”

One thing she can do, Theon thinks twenty minutes later, is _definitely_ hitting you hard even if she should be technically pretending to.

He’s fairly sure that when he glanced at Jon after Dacey yelled _cut_ , he was _blushing_ after having just taken a picture of Ygritte slapping the living daylights out of him.

\--

He considers joking about it on the bus, then doesn’t. He says he’ll come to the pub after a shower, Jon tells him that it’s never closed in the evenings and Theon does exactly that. It’s quiet tonight – no game, huh? – and Robb’s out of the kitchen not long later, always looking overjoyed to see him here.

 _Well then_.

“Had a nice hike today?”

“Oh, sure. Did your brother have a good time? I mean, he’s always stopping in Cong on that set so I don’t exactly see him, but –”

“Looks like it. Actually – what will you have?”

Theon orders and Robb’s there with his food twenty minutes later, but then –

“Can I sit here a moment?” He asks.

“Of course,” Theon says. Robb goes in front of him and then clears his throat.

“Listen, I just – I don’t know how to thank you. He just – he doesn’t let it show but running into that job was a lifesaver, even if he’s not getting paid, but who cares. He also hadn’t taken a picture in months, so – is there a way I _can_ thank you? You didn’t really have to.”

Shit, now on one side he feels kind of bad because he _has_ conned Jon into covering for him, but – he thinks, _if he knew_ _would we even be having this conversation_?

He leans forward and smiles slightly, in a way he’s been told was quite breathtaking by many casting directors.

Who, of course, didn’t know he likes _both_ men and women, and _shit_ , won’t Barbrey _love_ this, but –

Fuck this noise. He likes Robb. He _really_ likes Robb. And he’s done enough therapy to know that purposefully sabotaging his own happiness is a thing he Should Not Be Doing.

“With the premise that you don’t have to _pay me back_ for anything and you don’t owe me zilch, the only thing I did was dragging your brother on a bus… well, seems to me like you never close shop, but if next Sunday you’d be amenable to go with me in one of the places I might be considering putting in my _guidebook_ , I’d be delighted.”

He thinks, _I hope I haven’t read him wrong_.

But Robb looks merely surprised, and then like he’s pondering it, and then –

“What if,” he says, “what if I never close shop but if Jon says he’s up for it I can let him run things on Sunday?”

“That sounds fairly great to me,” Theon grins back.

“Then – unless anything happens, sure. Of course. God, I just – I haven’t done this since high school.”

Theon doesn’t ask _seriously_ , because of course he wouldn’t have, even if it’s a waste in the eyes of whichever eventual divinity exists, if one does.

“Then I’ll make it worth your while,” Theon declares, and Robb sends him a frankly disarming grin before he stands up and dashes behind the counter as someone else calls him over.

Wow.

He did it.

And _Robb said yes_.

Now he just has to… not fuck it up, he supposes, and _figure out where the fuck they’re actually going and how_ , since he doesn’t know any place around here that’s not one of the film’s sets and he goes around by bus.

\--

By the middle of the week, he thinks he has it.

They’re finishing all the cemetery scenes by Wednesday because the forecast says it’s going to rain as much as last week and they have to do the scene where he and Ygritte make out under the rain, and Dacey decided to go for the real thing rather than fake rain, and hopefully her relatively old camera that she got for very cheap along with the rest of the equipment doesn’t die on them.

He had no idea of where he could bring Robb, but if the equipment leaves by the time Sunday rolls over… the cemetery is impressive for being, well, a graveyard, the nearby area is perfect for a stroll and if it doesn’t rain it should be perfect for at least taking a walk.

That is, if he doesn’t catch the cold of the century before they’re done, since it _is_ really bloody raining and setting the lights and shit in this weather is hardly the easiest thing. Jon’s going around, completely ignoring the fact that he’s drenched, snapping pictures here and there – Theon figures he’s been through worse than this, and maybe if he’s in the middle of the action thunderstorms aren’t _that_ much of a problem. Ygritte is sharing his umbrella and muttering something about _hoping to be done with this as soon as possible_.

“By the way,” she tells him, “last time it didn’t have to be long, but right now it should be. Are you one of those people who fakes it or are you okay with having your tongue in my mouth?”

Listen, Theon _likes_ her, okay? He wishes half of the people he met on a daily basis were this straightforward.

“You can french me for real, if you’re so inclined.”

“Thank fuck, at least someone isn’t a prude in this business.”

They finally do the scene. It’s _hell_ , because the first time the wind throws a branch near their faces and they only dodge it out of sheer luck, and the second take he forgets his line and the third _she_ forgets hers, but _finally_ at the fourth they have it and fine, _fine_ , Ygritte _can_ kiss and he’s only too fine with going with it – she might not be his type when it comes to personality but when it comes to looks she pretty much fits it, and when Dacey yells _cut_ , she comments something along the lines of _this is borderline pornographic but we can totally work with it_.

Given how _drenched_ his shirt is and that you can see the muscles through it, and same for Ygritte’s, Theon has no doubt about that.

And then Ygritte _winks_ at Jon, who had been taking pictures, and he quite literally goes _red in the face_.

Huh.

Theon doesn’t know if he should pry or not, and so he doesn’t, but – wouldn’t it be _hilarious_ if –

He’s _not_ going to think about it.

\--

And then on Sunday morning he commits the mistake of taking Barbrey’s call.

“What do you want?” Theon asks without preambles.

“Theon, _A Storm of Swords_ starts pre-production _in three weeks_.”

“And I’ve already told you I’m _not_ taking that job.”

“Theon, I don’t think you understand the main point.”

“As in?”

“You _can’t_ not take it.”

“How so?”

She sighs. “Ramsay Bolton might have sent me a fairly long e-mail in which he says that he owns some pictures he took of you in… let’s say _compromising_ positions. He attached a few.”

 _What the hell_?

“Before you ask me, no, he’s not part of the pictures.”

 _Fuck. Fuck, did that asshole really send her the pictures of that time he spiked something in Theon’s drink and he woke up the next morning in fairly shitty conditions and vaguely remembering a lot of things he hadn’t consented to which included Bolton taking pictures of his_ friends _in the crew doing those exact things to him?_

And in which, of course, he wasn’t?

“Barbrey –”

“He said that if you don’t take the job he’s going to send that stuff to the Daily Mail first and to every agent in London, with his version of the story. Now, I don’t care what it is that you enjoy doing in your spare time even if it’s not marketable, but if you don’t take that job he _will_ do it and you’ll most likely be finished because _no one_ would hire you for family friendly films or anything below R after that, and honestly, they don’t speak too well of your professionalism. So, if you know what’s good for you, you’re dumping this stupid movie you’re doing right the hell now and heading for the _Storm_ table readings, or –”

“Fuck you.”

“Excuse me?”

Theon hadn’t exactly _planned_ to say it, but the cat is out of the bag and – no. He’s not doing that.

“Those pictures were taken after Bolton _spiked my drink_. I was out of it for most of that. I did _not_ consent to any of that shit and it’s not _everything_ that happened while I was on set. He said I could have that part if I lost _a fucking quarter_ of my weight because my character was supposed to have this amazing story arc starting after being tortured to starvation for months, which means that if I took it I should lose all of that in _less than a month_ when I’ve spent the previous two building up muscle and I’m _not_ risking my bloody health for him. And that’s everything _you_ are entitled to know, because sure as hell I don’t owe you the rest. I’m not going back to that set if they granted me ten Emmys for it and I’m not leaving a movie halfway shot when they’ve actually _actively_ worked with me and to have me here. If Bolton wants me that bad, he can choke. And if _this_ is how you want to represent me – meaning, _keeping on insisting when I told you no_ and when you know that I have very good reasons to refuse, you can also go choke.”

“This is not very professional of you, and –”

“Barbrey? Don’t bother calling me again. I can find another agent when I’m back.”

“Theon, if Bolton publishes those pictures I doubt you will find anyone who’ll want to manage you –”

“ _Don’t bother_.”

He closes the call, ponders about it for a moment and then blocks her number.

She’s not a bad agent, but she’s making his father’s best interests, not _his_ , and he’s fucking done.

Shit, maybe he should avoid looking at the internet or at his phone, period – if those pictures really go out he’s going to be outed and Barbrey’s right, _that_ would make it more complicated to find work, but…

Fuck that. He can always go back to theater, it was less pressuring, and after what went on with Bolton he _really_ has lost half of his paranoia when it comes to this kind of thing. A year ago he’d have never asked a _guy_ out, regardless of how much he found him attractive, but now – now, what does he have to lose? And – he’s gone too close to really ruining his life thanks to that thrice-damned TV show, worrying about not leaving the closet is not exactly his top priority.

He calls Brienne and she tells him that she was hoping he’d dump Barbrey already and that _she_ will talk to her, if Theon gives her permission.

He rattles out Barbrey’s number and tells Brienne to knock herself out, and then he spends the rest of the afternoon picking clothes and _fretting_ the way he hasn’t since fucking high school. If he ever fretted in high school in the first place.

Shit. _Shit_. He doesn’t even know how they’re supposed to get to the cemetery, it’s kind of far on foot, and Barbrey’s made him think about _that blasted evening_ and now he feels dirty inside _and_ outside as he’s felt every damned time he thought about some five different pair of hands grabbing at him and –

No.

He’s _not_ thinking about _that_ just when he scored a date with someone he actually fucking likes, damn it.

He shakes his head, puts on his nicest casual jeans and shirt he brought with, makes sure his hair isn’t a mess and leaves the house after revising his lines for tomorrow for the umpteenth time.

Davos is dusting the floor in front of the stairs as Theon walks down and – he _grins_?

“Let me guess,” he says, “You’re meeting with Robb?”

“ _How_ –”

“Who else was it going to be? And chill, it’s a good thing you are.”

“Sorry?”

“He hasn’t had much fun for himself, bar the U2 thing, since his parents died. Of course, if he still doesn’t know he has no idea he’s going out with a bonafide movie star, but –”

“I’m _not_ a star, and does the entire town know about the U2 thing?”

“What he doesn’t know is that his siblings got _half_ of us to co-sign that thing, that’s how they won the contest. Go have fun, you look like you need it.”

 _You don’t know half of it_.

“Yeah, thanks. Have a good evening.”

The five minutes it takes him to go to the pub aren’t exactly filled with positivity – _what if something goes wrong, what if Ramsay’s sending those pictures over right now, what if he’s found out and he hates me_ – but that somehow leaves his mind completely when he sees that Robb’s waiting outside.

And he also sort of dressed up. He has nice, clean jeans, new boots and – unsurprisingly – an old but extremely well-kept U2 t-shirt, and for a moment Theon thinks, _I should’ve brought flowers_ or something, but then Robb grins and he has to grin back because it’s damn contagious, okay?

“Hey,” he says, “so, everything all right?”

“Yeah. Also, uh, Jon says, literally, _given how he goes around the moors I doubt he has a car or anything so if he wants to use my motorcycle I might lend it to the both of you just for today_ ,” Robb says, and pats his pocket. Where there are keys.

“Wait, why if _I_ want to use it?”

“I can’t drive a fucking motorcycle.”

“Huh. Well, _good_ ,” he says, smirking. He’s not looking at gift horses in the mouth. “Can I have them?”

“Be my guest.” Robb hands him the keys and leads him to the back of the pub – right. There’s the motorcycle. It’s black, and well-kept – maybe a bit _too_ much.

“Does he actually drive it?”

“… Not really. I mean, since he came back he’s kept it in perfect shape but no, he doesn’t drive it. The helmets are in the trunk.”

Theon nods and opens it, then hands Robb one of them and puts on the other.

“Whenever you like,” he says, after jumping on the bike, and _thank fuck he has to drive one in the movie so he spent two weeks getting back in the saddle before coming here_ or it’d have been years since he drove one of these.

Robb does, his arms going around Theon’s waist.

Shit, _he put on cologne_.

Theon’s so _not_ going to survive this afternoon, but there could be worse ways to dies, he decides as he turns on the ignition and drives back to the cemetery.

\--

“Wow,” Robb says as they get off the motorcycle, “ _romantic_.”

“Hey,” Theon protests, “this is where John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara had their first _serious_ love scene in _The Quiet Man_ , it’s going on my guidebook just for that. It’s _pretty damned_ romantic. But in all seriousness, I just thought – that it was nice and it wasn’t, you know, brimming with people. Or tourists. Not at this time or day, anyway.”

“I was joking,” Robb says, “and I hadn’t been here in ages. I had forgotten about that movie, right. It’s… yeah.”

The sun is still up in the sky, though sunset will come shortly, and it paints quite a striking picture in between the well-kept graves in front of them and the lovely green trees and grass behind them.

“Shall we?” Theon grins, and Robb’s expression matches his as they walk inside, good thing it’s always open.

“So, you have the _movie locations_ section on your guidebook?”

“They’re always good for tourists,” Theon replies. “I also have – other sections on my guidebook. Like, _places that make excellent food with good service_.”

“Flatterer. It’s average.”

“No, it’s _good_. Listen, if there’s one thing I learned in therapy is that putting yourself down to start with is a bad idea, and _please_ let’s leave it at that because I was planning to have fun, not to get the mood down.”

“Fair. And how were you planning to have fun?”

“I don’t know, people do get to know each other on dates. You know I like visiting places and that cemeteries aren’t necessarily the death of romance, at this point I should ask you _at least_ your favorite U2 record.”

Robb laughs at that, again, and shit, he becomes ten years younger when he does.

Theon’s so, _so_ fucked.

“It used to be _The Joshua Tree_ ,” Robb says. “Not really what you’d call revolutionary. But now it’s _No Line on the Horizon_ , because it’s the one I have signed. Which is probably even more pathetic.”

“Hey, I haven’t had time to follow music in ages, I haven’t even heard it yet. Who am I to judge you? Also, it makes sense it would be.”

“You haven’t heard it?” Robb asks.

“No. Why’s that?”

“Because,” Robb says, slowly, moving slightly closer. They’re behind one of the lower graves now, and there are no clouds, and the sun is setting, and the entire cemetery is bathed in a warm, soft pink-orange light that hits Robb’s red curls and in the right angle his hair seems covered in golden specks.

Theon thinks _this_ is a way more fitting kissing scenario than the rain from a few days ago – and he can still smell it in the damp earth, it rained a bit this morning so the ground is wet.

“Because,” Robb says, his hand slightly brushing against Robb’s wrist, “I was thinking, maybe when we’re back you might wanna come upstairs and listen to it?”

 _Shit_. Shit, _shit_ , and Robb’s looking at him so very hopefully, and Theon has an early morning tomorrow, and if Jon’s around it would be a problem, but –

But –

“I have a better idea,” he says. “Because tomorrow morning I have to be out ridiculously early, _but_ I also don’t think it’s very gentlemanly to _go upstairs_ at the first date.”

Robb raises an eyebrow – good thing he understood he’s joking, he tried to pull this line on a few other people and they actually bought it.

“How many dates does it take you to _go upstairs_?”

“The second is good enough,” Theon smirks. “And I have nothing to do on Saturday. How about I come listen to your record on Friday evening?”

“I think,” Robb says, “that it sounds good, but I might want a guarantee.”

“And I think I can provide it,” Theon says, and he can’t remember the last time he flirted this smoothly with someone, but –

He leans a bit downwards, Robb’s just slightly shorter than he is, and puts a hand around Robb’s waist and draws him closer, and when his mouth meets Robb’s, it’s –

Everything he had imagined. It starts slow, as they feel each other out, but then Robb’s mouth parts under his and he _kisses back_ with enough strength Theon’s slightly taken aback, but he gets on with the memo a moment later and his hands are in Robb’s hair (shit, it’s _soft_ , he definitely washed it not even three hours ago) and Robb’s hands are grasping at his back and for the first time in months there’s nothing even remotely wrong about someone kissing the living shit out of him, or the contrary, when the few people he’s kissed since Ramsay – bar people he kissed on screen, of course – have left him feeling like _something_ just didn’t add up and felt wrong.

Nothing feels wrong now.

As he moves back, Robb’s hand goes to his cheek as his own rests on the back of Robb’s neck and Robb looks positively glowing.

He has a feeling he’s looking the same.

“Was that what you had in mind?”

“ _Better_ than what I had in mind. You think you could do that again?”

Theon smirks and does.

\--

By the time they’re back in Barrowtown, they’ve made out in the cemetery, behind the old church, in the nearby woods and in some other places, and Theon can’t remember the last time he felt _this_ good.

(He’s so _not_ going to look at his cellphone later. He’s so _not._ )

From the expression on Robb’s face, he reciprocates the feeling.

He parks Jon’s bike in the place where he found it and puts the helmets back in their place before looking back at Robb again – it’s dark now, but the street lights are good enough that they can see each other properly.

“So,” Theon says, “see you on Friday after you close for _listening to music_ , and then I’ll see you for dinner the other days?”

“I like this plan,” Robb replies. “So – have a good night. I’m looking forward to… listening to music with you, _Theon_.”

Theon can’t resist – he steals another kiss, and another, and a third, before Robb has to go back upstairs and he goes back to his room with a damned stupid grin fixed on his face.

Maybe this is going to bite him in the ass soon, and he really should tell Robb before they get any more serious, but –

He thinks, _would I have had half a chance if he had known? Would it have changed things_?

He has a feeling the answers would be respectively no and yes, and so he resolves to tell Robb before the movie’s finished shooting but not _too_ early, and walks back home with his shoulders feeling lighter and feeling like he could run all the way there without getting short of breath.

\--

The next three days are fairly uneventful. He goes on set, he does his job, no one calls – maybe because he also blocked his father’s number, admittedly –, he always has dinner at Robb’s and they have to try _really_ hard to stay professional in front of other patrons but sometimes Robb just winks at him out of nowhere and Theon winks back. He exercises while the others shoot interiors without either him or Ygritte being present, his trainer says he’s doing fairly well and looks very much in shape which is a thing he _really_ likes to hear, and when Dacey shows them _some_ of the material she’s put together over the weekends –

Shit, he _really_ likes it. He doesn’t think he’s ever acted this well in his life, and the most challenging scenes are still to come but he really can’t wait to tackle them. The kiss in the cemetery is admittedly this close to an R rating but, as Dacey put it, _you’re too hot to edit it, we’ll make it work_.

And on top of that, Jon _really_ can take nice pictures – he ends up showing them a selection of everything he took in the first week, all neatly labeled with day and time and scene, and yeah, he does have talent. The still he took of him and Ygritte kissing in the cemetery is _really fucking good_ , even if it’s obviously skewed towards her side.

(And he can see that Ygrite _notices_ it when she sees it. If only because she smiles a tiny bit as she does.)

Dacey tells him she’ll _definitely_ find a way to pay him and then dumps the pictures on Pyp and tells him to just use the ones he thinks he needs and he and Jon can handle it, she trusts them. They’re also on schedule, more or less – it’s been almost a month and they’re shooting for the next two weeks and then staying another two for extra dubbing, layovers, maybe re-shooting and so on, and next week they have to work through the wedding scene and the ones just after. The last is all for the boxing flashback and then he doesn’t know how long it’s going to take him and Tormund to shoot _ten minutes of film in which they punch each other all over town_ , but they’ve been practicing when neither of them has to shoot anything and they’ve worked out most kinks and he just – he’s _so excited_ about this movie, he almost bursts with it.

(Too bad Asha is his only option and she’s not really much into cinema in the first place, but never mind.)

Then Thursday happens.

He spent the morning in the gym as usual, and when he heads for their makeshift mess hall he expects Jon to be talking to Sam Tarly as he usually does.

But right – Sam’s not here today, he had to go deal with hiring some extras for next week, and Jon’s on his own.

That is, until Ygritte unceremoniously sits in front of him.

“… Hello?” Jon blurts, obviously not quite processing it.

“Hello,” she says. “So, will you finally let me thank you properly for preserving the integrity of my pretty face when you didn’t let that shutter hit me?”

“I – _what_? It was nothing.”

She rolls his eyes openly and shoves some food in her mouth before looking back at him again.

“No, you obviously _know_ nothing.”

“… I know nothing?”

“Jon Snow, either you don’t or you’re purposefully pretending that I haven’t been trying to hit on you for this entire week.”

Theon almost spits his water and he doesn’t know if he should laugh or not, but Jon’s baffled face is just – too priceless. _Almost_ too priceless.

Jon _does_ spit his, though. “You’re doing _what_?”

“Exactly what I’ve just said.”

“You aren’t.”

“And why not?”

Jon stares down at his right hand – he’s wearing a glove. “I think you’ve seen me _without_.”

“I did. Not a turn-off.”

“Miss Gia –”

“ _Ygritte_ , please.”

“ _Ygritte_ , people _don’t_ hit on me. I mean – they don’t.”

“I’m not _people_. And I’m not leaving this table until you agree to let me take you out for drinks, unless you actually have a serious reason not to. For one, that _you don’t like me_.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“If that’s the problem, cool. If you don’t feel like it, cool. If you think it’s because I somehow _shouldn’t_ want to, that’s bullshit. So, can I? Take you out for drinks, I mean.”

Jon _stares_ at her and she smirks and stares back – well, she obviously means it. And she obviously likes him a lot, or she wouldn’t be trying that hard.

“You’re serious,” he groans.

“Took you long enough to get there. So? I have the weekend free. I’m entirely fine with driving us to Galway. Yes or no?”

Jon stares at her some more. Then some more. Theon can see that he’s debating it. And then –

“Fuck that. Fine, I’m in. Your funeral if I disappoint you.”

“I doubt that, Jon Snow. I doubt _that_.”

She’s smiling as she goes back to her food while he’s completely dumbfounded instead, but –

Oh. So, if they’re going to Galway on _Friday_ …

Theon thinks he’s going to enjoy _not_ having to necessarily stay quiet when he goes upstairs to Robb’s on that same day.

\--

On Friday, he does something he’s _never_ done since – shit, did he ever do this in high school? No, he never did. The closest he’s ever gotten to dating someone was Kyra and she’d have had his hide if he bought her _anything_ in the first place.

Admittedly, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing as, before taking the bus, he heads for the only gift shop in town he can find on short notice and buys a small plant – fine, maybe cacti with small red flowers aren’t exactly _dating_ material but it was the only thing that wasn’t completely fucking embarrassing.

Jon and Ygritte are _somewhere_ else, so he figures that went through. He takes the bus on his own, changes into nicer clothes, grabs his packaged plant and heads for Winterfell. Robb is _beaming_ when he comes into the shop, and he doesn’t know how they manage to actually stay professional until closing time happens, but when it does, Robb locks the door and goes to sit in front of him.

“You won’t guess the good news,” he says, and he even _sounds_ giddy.

“Enlighten me.”

“One of the actresses in that movie actually… asked Jon out? He was freaking out like nothing else but then he figured he’d go.”

“ _Really_ ,” Theon pretends to be surprised. “How did he take it?”

“He can’t quite believe she did, but he says he likes her and didn’t get into specifics about it, but anyway. He’s in Galway this evening. And I might have arranged so that my little brothers sleep at their friends’ tonight.”

“ _Oh_. So, you mean, we have the house to ourselves?”

“That is, indeed, _very much_ correct,” Robb grins. “And I mean, I love my brothers, but since it’s been a damn long time I’d rather not have anyone else around.”

“So, are we listening to your favorite record yet?”

“Sure we are. Get up.”

Theon does and follows Robb upstairs after he locks down the place and shuts the lights and opens a _staff only_ door that leads to the first floor. There’s a fairly large apartment that takes it and the one above from what Robb can see, but then again if _eight people_ lived here, it had to be.

“My room’s upstairs,” Robb says, “but we should probably stop in the living room first. Take a seat, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Theon does and takes in the living room in question – it’s not _too_ large, but it’s cozy, with an orange sofa and yellow armchairs. There’s no television, but there’s a nice record player, and of course the signed vinyl is hanged on the wall in the midst of family pictures. The rest of the walls are covered in bookshelves – he can see that they belong to different people from _how_ the books are stashed, actually, and it’s kind of cute how the three neat people don’t seem to want to put some order in the others’ shelves. There are a lot of family pictures on the shelves, too – by the time Robb is back with a couple of drinks, he’s seen ones from both sisters’ graduations, one with only Robb and Jon aged not more than six dressed as Superman and Batman for Halloween or _something_ and a lot of one of the younger brothers with some science fair prizes and the likes.

“Can I say something?” He tells Robb as he takes the glass of whiskey from him. Damn, it smells like good whiskey.

“Of course.”

“If you kept this entire household afloat on your own, you really should give yourself a lot of credit.”

“You’re way too nice, but thanks. I tried. So… cheers?”

“Cheers,” Theon says as they clink glasses before taking a sip. Damn, it _really_ isn’t cheap.

“Right,” Robb says, “the record. Hey, I took that statement both literally and not quite so.”

“Do go ahead, I actually want to hear it.”

Robb grabs a cd from what seem like his shelves – not _too_ tidy but midway – and turns the record player on, pushing it in.

A moment later, music is filling up the room and Theon thinks, _wow_ , haven’t they changed since he checked one of their records last. Then again, how long was it, fifteen years? Everyone has a right to evolve.

“Oh,” he says, “I had brought you this.”

Robb takes the bag he had sort of forgotten he had with, and takes out the cactus – he obviously hadn’t expected it, but then he snorts and his cheeks turn a darker shade of pink. “Nice,” he says. “I’ve never had a girlfriend bringing me _flowers_ ,” he says.

“It’s not really –”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Robb says, and he _does_ sound touched. “Wait.”

He puts the plant on the nearer windowsill with care, and then he grabs Theon’s arm and brings him towards the couch.

It’s as comfortable as it looked, Theon decides.

“Admittedly,” he says, “I haven’t had a girlfriend in ten years.”

“I can’t believe _anyone_ in this town wouldn’t have wanted to snatch you up,” he says, his hands closing over Robb’s hips as Robb’s leg slides over his own.

“I think,” Robb replies, “that you’re underestimating the situation. No one wants to get hitched to a guy who comes with _four_ underage siblings even if he runs a modestly successful business. Never mind that half of this town isn’t exactly progressive and hadn’t – did Jon tell you?”

“About his parents? He might’ve.”

“Never paid him any favors, especially with the fact that he couldn’t have our name. And since he came back – people come here for the drinks and because I’m the only one with this kinda business. The progressive half is fairly great, but still, I’m no great prospect. And since Jon came back, _well_ –”

“Let me guess, before you were the one who came with four underage siblings and then you were the guy who came with them _plus_ one that most people considered a mental case?”

“… Pretty much. Did I ever tell you that I like that you don’t mince words?”

Theon shrugs. “I’ve never had a knack for embellishing things.”

“I like that,” Robb says. “Shit, I feel like I’m in my mom’s favorite movie.”

“ _What_? I mean, what movie?”

“ _The Bridges of Madison County_ ,” Robb snorts. “I mean, in there the guy took pictures, you write guidebooks, but it’s the same deal. I know you’re not here forever. Though hey, you’re here longer than four days, I lucked out. And I know you aren’t planning to stay here, and I know I can’t go anywhere else. And it was a sad as fuck movie, but still –”

“Still?”

“Still, those two _really_ had a good time with each other, while they had it. I thought _we_ also might.”

Theon wants to say, _don’t mention movies_ and _I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with my life after I’m done here_ and _why do you think someone would just want you as someone to have a good time with_ , but he knows Robb’s right on the first two and he can imagine the second one, since – since he’s spent most of his time from the moment he first landed a fairly successful acting gig asking himself, _do people want me for my looks or because I can act_ , and then _he_ proceeded to distance himself from anyone he could get close to after realizing most people just looked at his name or fame or looks and not at _him_.

“I’d feel offended if I couldn’t even show you a good time,” he says, and –

As Robb leans down and their mouths meet, he pays attention ever so slightly to what’s coming out of the record player –

( _I was born_

_I was born to sing for you_

_I didn't have a choice but to lift you up_

_And sing whatever song you wanted me to_

_I give you back my voice_

_From the womb my first cry, it was a joyful noise_ )

And he thinks, _what a damned coincidence_ as Robb lifts himself up higher on his lap and puts his hands to Theon’s cheeks.

Theon doesn’t try to make sure they get naked as soon as possible.

All the contrary – he wants to enjoy every damn second of this and he wants Robb to, as well, and she he kisses black, slow, and maybe he tries to follow the song’s rhythm as much as he can while it goes on and fades into another, and he doesn’t know _how long_ has it been since he made out with someone for more than ten minutes just for the sake of making out, but he likes it. God, there’s _nothing_ awkward here, Robb fits against him like they’re made for each other – as corny as it sounds – and he has rough hands that feel _really damn good_ against Theon’s skin, and okay, they’re pressed against each other and he can feel that Robb’s hard and that he is, too, but it’s just – not that urgent. They can worry about it later.

So he just lets himself enjoy the moment and kisses Robb again, and again, and he doesn’t know _how long_ they go on for, at least another full song (and it’s _long_ , he thinks, or at least it feels long), and they might have gone on further, except that then he pays attention to what’s coming out of the speakers and it’s just a line, just _one_ , but –

_(you know your name so punch it in, hear me, cease to speak that I may speak)_

and he freezes, because –

Shit –

 _Shit_ –

He thinks about Ramsay having asked once, _but we should maybe practice more behind closed doors, how about I call your Reek anyway? That’s a better name for you, too,_ and he _had_ also spiked his damned drink before and why was he so stupid to fall for it _twice_ –

“Hey, everything all right?” Robb asks.

“I just –” He breathes in. “What if I really liked that song?”

“Oh, so you’re _listening_ , too?” Robb smiles, and he’s sort of vibrating with anticipation. “Then I’d say we’re in agreement, it’s one of my favorites, too,” he says, and then leans back down –

And Theon rises up to the challenge and kisses him harder, flipping them over so that Robb’s on the sofa and he’s the one climbing over him.

 _You know your name so punch it in_.

Oh, he _does_ know his, he thinks as Robb’s hands go to his shirt.

He’s left before it could get _too_ bad, and still, sometimes he dreams that shit at night, but –

“ _Theon_ , shit, yes, _please_ –” Robb’s saying as Theon’s hands go to his jeans and open them and his hands wraps around Robb’s cock, and the way he’s saying it, is just – _I want to hear him calling me like that always_ , Theon thinks, and as the music fades into another Theon leans down and kisses Robb as he gets him off, slow, without hurry – they have the whole night after all – and thinks, _I’ll find a way to make this work._

And then he stops thinking about anything else as Robb goes still under him and comes against his hand, his hands grabbing at Theon’s shoulders, and good thing he’s not trying to keep silent because Robb could listen to him moaning all fucking night long.

“Shit,” he says a moment later, “it shows it had been a long time?”

“Hey, you have the entire night to make it up to me,” Theon grins.

“ _Good_ ,” Robb says. “Because I might’ve bought condoms.”

“Great thinking. And where do I find them?”

“My room. Upstairs. But – hm, you mind if we go in a few minutes?”

“I’m not in a hurry,” Theon says, and leans down for another kiss.

They don’t go upstairs until the record’s over, so it’s really not _a few minutes_ , but it’s fine, they’re not in a hurry, and Theon has to give it to Robb, it’s a _very_ good record. Robb is overjoyed to hear it, and they pretty much tumble their way upstairs until Robb opens the door to a medium-sized bedroom. It has a few more bookshelves, a U2 poster hung on one side of the wall and a Nirvana one on the other –

And it has _two_ beds. One medium-sized and one smaller on the opposite side of the wall.

Robb clears his throat.

“Er, well, that’s why it’s a good thing Jon’s out with the dashing redhead actress today,” Robb says, obviously feeling like this has the chance to become awkward.

“He sleeps there?” Theon asks, remembering the times when he shared a room with Asha after his mother died and they had to move into a way smaller house with way lesser space.

Robb shrugs. “In the time he was gone, Arya and Sansa went off to university – before we all had one each except Bran and Rickon who were sharing, so since the house was too big I just, uh, closed off a few rooms and rented them and gave them their own rooms, you know. When he came back – we have a guest room, it used to be our parents’ but no one wanted to sleep there. Except he sleeps really badly, when he does, so – yeah. He sleeps there. Sorry, this probably was a mood killer and I don’t even know why I’m talking about it –”

“Maybe because you usually… don’t do that? I mean, talk about it to other people?”

Robb snorts. “Maybe. I mean, I might’ve with a few, but it just – doesn’t feel right. Shit, I ruined the mood, didn’t I?”

Theon would kind of like to say _one of the reasons I think I’m terribly and hopelessly attracted to you is that you’re the kind of person who actually wouldn’t bat an eyelid at doing everything you do_ , but he doesn’t know if it’s exactly appropriate talk or not. Probably not. Whatever. That’s not the point. The point is –

“No. All the contrary,” he says. “I imagine your bed is _not_ the one with the Nirvana poster, is it?”

“Hell, no. I draw a limit at that kind of depressing music.”

“ _Good_.” And then Theon kisses him again as he pushes him towards the bed and as they fall down on it they’re losing more clothes and kicking shoes off, and damn but Robb _does_ have lovely arms, he thinks, and shit, he has _freckles_ over his hips and his eyes look very much bluer in the moonlight coming in from the window as he hands Theon the damned condoms, and a bottle of lube and –

Theon figures that he’ll worry later at how he’s going to find a way to make this relationship _not_ end like _The Bridges of Madison County_ , and tears open the packet before rolling in over Robb’s dick and smirking as he moves up to his knees.

“You have more I hope, right?”

“Sure I do. Bought a whole packet.”

“ _Good_ , because I might want to blow you later.”

“You can’t just _say_ that kinda shit without wanting to kill me,” Robb groans.

“Believe me,” Theon says, opening the lube and pouring some over Robb’s fingers, “killing you is the last thing I have in mind, and if you would like to get me ready before I ride you like I’ve been wanting to for _days_ , you’d get me right back on track.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Robb blurts, and takes the lube from him.

Minutes later, he’s lowered himself down on Robb’s cock and he’s moving his hips _slow_ just to make sure he doesn’t come too soon, and the both of them aren’t even trying to _not_ make noise, and Robb’s hands are closed around his hips strongly but not _too_ much so, and he hasn’t had sex this good in _forever_ because this is the first time in months he’s actually taking his time and looking at the other person in the eyes and Robb’s not _pounding_ but rather thrusting upwards strongly but not roughly, and –

And Robb’s looking right back up at him as if he can’t believe he’s gotten it this good either, which is _not_ a thing that happens to him often.

“ _Theon_ ,” he blurts, “ _shit_ , I’m –”

“Close? _Good_ ,” Theon blurts back, and leans down for another kiss, and another one, and Robb’s grip around his back is borderline painful but not the good kind of and they come _almost_ at the same time, Robb’s other hand bringing Theon off, and it’s _good_ , no, _better_ , fuck, it was totally worth it to wait a few days if it meant _this_ , and –

And then they’re looking at each other while lying on ruined sheets, they probably need a shower and neither of them proposes while Robb, still smiling, climbs over him again and kisses him slowly into the mattress.

Oh, so he’s not done. Good, because neither is Theon.

 _Not at all_.

\--

The morning after, Robb insists to make him breakfast.

They slept grasping at each other, and he hadn’t known he could just feel this _chill_ about sleeping with someone else, not after what happened a few months ago, but turns out that he can, and that Robb also makes a mean coffee and mean pancakes, and it’s just – it’s just too surreally _good_. He thinks he’s dreamed it but no, he has a few scratches on his back and Robb’s hair is plastered to his forehead and he’s not hiding the hickey Theon kind of left on his neck in a moment of _Iabsolutelywasnotthinking_ sometimes after they fucked and before Theon blew him – maybe it was when Robb blew _him_.

“So,” Robb says, “you think we might do it again?”

“I’d be offended if we _didn’t_ ,” Theon retorts.

“Tonight after closing?”

“ _Tonight after closing_ it is. Unless your brother –”

“He called before. He’s… apparently spending the weekend in Galway with the hot readhead actress.”

 _… Ygritte sure as hell doesn’t waste time_ , does she?

“ _Wow_. Well, good for him?”

“Oh, _totally_. I mean, I’m kind of weirded out because he was always kind of an introvert and he doesn’t jump into situations, but I actually talked to her and she seemed cool, so… honestly, she’s probably good for him at this point. _Anything_ that’s not people looking at him weird here is good. Anyway, so, _tonight_?”

“Sure. You want one more cactus for your collection?”

“Hey, if you feel so inclined,” Robb smiles, and maybe they end up sharing one of the pancakes, and it’s _ridiculously_ domestic, but –

It feels nice.

It _really_ feels nice.

\--

He comes back, and he spends the night, and it goes even better than the first – shit, looking at Robb you wouldn’t say he’s the kind of guy who will happily agree to tie you to the bed if you ask, but he _is_ and he’s a great lay for _that,_ too.

He comes back on Sunday, too, and leaves just when Jon comes back – they meet on the doorstep and for a moment it feels like it _might_ turn awkward.

Then he realizes that Jon – looks _good_? Okay, he still has that scar on his face and the broody look to him, but other than that he _does_ have the face of someone who just got laid splendidly for the entire weekend, and there’s… Theon doesn’t know, but he looks somehow less… apathetic than he has always looked. Or maybe it’s not the right word. Maybe it’s more like, it seems like someone lifted a very heavy weight off his shoulders.

“So,” he says, “had fun with Ygritte?”

“So,” Jon replies, “had fun with Robb?”

 _Okay, fair_. He snorts. “More than fun, I guess.”

“That’s good. I could say the same, I – I think.”

“She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Jon adds, sounding… _fond_? “But – I think she’s my kind of piece of work. That said… he still doesn’t know, does he?”

“No,” Theon sighs. “I wanted to tell him at some point during the weekend, but – it was all going so well, I just – didn’t want to spoil it. I guess.”

Jon sighs. “Fine. But really, _tell him_. I know him, he’d understand. And he wouldn’t treat you different.”

“I know that _now_ , I think. I didn’t know then. Anyway, I swear I will. Also because –”

“Because what?”

… Well, at this point he should just say it all and get done with it. “I think he’s assuming that when I finish _writing my book_ , I’m gonna disappear.”

“Won’t you?” Jon asks, sounding like he had also been assuming that.

“I – listen, I’m _thinking_ about it, but –” Shit, he _hates_ talking about this. What did Brienne say? _There’s nothing shameful about admitting what you want_? As if. “I like him. I _really_ like him. And… I generally… _don’t_ … really _like_ people. If you get my meaning.”

“You mean, you usually are all business and easy lays but you don’t want him to be one?”

“… Yeah. Well. Pretty much. I don’t know what I want to do, but if he’s amenable to, I want to make it work. Okay, after I tell him the truth and after I realize what I’m doing after this movie, but – I do. Want to make it work.”

“I see,” Jon says. He _stares_ at him, then runs his burned hand through his hair – hey, he doesn’t have gloves as usual, does he? – and gives him a stare that says, _if you were lying I’m going to end you_. “Okay, let’s get it out of the way. On any normal day, I’d never advise Robb to be serious with someone who lied about… well, what you lied about since the beginning. _However_ , I get why you did it and after three days with Ygritte, who from what I gather isn’t as high-profile as you, I _think_ I can see what you meant when you say you don’t want people to recognize you. If you want to, I can test the waters and see if he also would want to make it work – not because I’m justifying this entire lying business, but because you make him happy, it’s obvious, and he hasn’t been _happy_ in years. And he deserves it. So, no guarantees, but I can. And please just fucking tell him already.”

Theon would _almost_ say he feels touched, if he just – he doesn’t do _touched_ as a general thing, okay?

“Sure. I will. I swear. I want to, it’s just – it never seemed the right moment.”

“Well, do it. Regardless, I also kind of owe you, so –”

“Jon, you don’t owe me anything.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

He goes inside then, and Theon walks back home thinking it through.

Hell, he _does_ want to make it work, doesn’t he? Thing is, he’s almost thirty. Hell, he’s thirty in a month. He started doing serious theater at nineteen. It’s been ten years. It’s been seven since he’s said goodbye to blissful anonymity for good. He hasn’t had _one_ stable relationship since then, and after what went down with Ramsay Bolton, he just – he’s tired. He can’t envision another five years of nameless girls in hotel rooms when he’s flying from someplace to the other. He kind of wants to go back to theater just so he can _stay_ in one damned city for half a year. He loves acting, but he hates the business. And – he thinks he _could_ come back here regularly enough, if he managed to get his life straight when it came to acting commitments. Long distance relationships can be a bitch, but he _could_ afford to visit often enough, and unless Robb doesn’t want too much excitement in his life – well, why not?

Shit, is he really _making plans_ when until now the only thing he’s made plans for is making sure his money is well-managed?

Still. _Still_ , he doesn’t think he’s ever liked anyone the way he’s liked Robb and he’s pretty sure no one’s ever looked at him the way Robb does. He’d feel like an idiot if they didn’t even get a try.

Right. _Right._

He’s just – he gets the boxing flashback out of the way tomorrow and then he’s telling Robb on Tuesday, tomorrow he’ll come back too late. After all, if Jon thinks he wouldn’t take it badly –

Also, he’s here for maybe another three weeks or so. He _has_ to do it before it’s the day before he leaves or it’d be plenty fucking worse.

\--

He gets through the flashback scene just fine – in the end they settled for lightweight, but he _did_ fill in nicely and he’s just, really proud of himself for having managed the right look _without_ ruining his damned health, and in between the scripts being adjusted and so on, it takes them the entire day. The sequence is a _lot_ longer than the original, on top of that, so by the time they’re done, he’s completely fucking exhausted and Dacey tells him to just come on set a bit later tomorrow, they’ll need the sun for his scenes with Tormund and he deserves to get some sleep.

“Hey,” he tells Jon, “I’m completely done for tonight, but – tomorrow, we should finish before sunrise, _if_ we do. So – I was thinking. I was going to tell him tomorrow after dinner, if –”

“Yeah, you’d better. By the way, I think he’d be amenable to _make it work_ , but he doesn’t even presume that it’s a viable option. I’d take that into consideration.”

“Oh, hey, is this the new episode of the whole sitcom where _you’re sort of dating his brother and he doesn’t know you’re an actor_?”

“… I don’t have to ask _how_ does Ygritte know, right?” Theon groans.

“We’ve been three days in the same bed and breakfast room, how you two met _would_ have had to come up in discussion,” Ygritte says, putting an arm around Jon’s shoulders. He doesn’t flinch whatsoever even if neither of them heard her coming when Theon clearly recalls that he did whenever the two of them happened to walk close to get to their seats on the bus.

“… Just don’t tell anyone else, will you?”

“Er,” Jon says, “Sam knows.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Theon sighs, “if Sam knows then Pyp and Grenn also know. And if _they_ know –”

“You’d better tell Robb before this gets any more ridiculous,” Jon tells him. “Well, I’ll be there to hear it, though.”

 _Even better_ , Theon thinks, but he kind of went looking for it. Good thing neither of the people who know have mentioned this to him.

That evening, he goes to bed more or less relaxed. He shoots Brienne a quick text, she tells him she thinks he’s doing great and please keep her updated, and he closes his eyes feeling relatively all right. He just has to get through tomorrow and then he’s going to show up at Winterfell’s and he’s going to tell Robb everything and hopefully Jon is right about his reaction, and if he is –

 _If he is_.

Theon really hopes so.

\--

He wakes up later than usual, since he’s coming to the set later as per agreement, which is why he doesn’t have his usual chat with Davos, who’s off to work at this point of the day. It’s _really_ sunny outside, and so he puts on his sunglasses when he takes the bus, which is half-empty. His phone is safely turned off, as it has been since last Friday.

Later, he will think that maybe _that_ is why he wasn’t aware of _the fucking shitstorm that had gone down in the previous twelve hours_ until he arrived on set.

Now, he arrives on set to find himself in front of –

In front of a fairly strange welcome committee. Or well, it’s not strange that Dacey, Sam, Ygritte, Jon, Pyp, Grenn, Tormund and Sandor Clegane are all standing in front of him, or maybe not too much. But it’s strange that they look – halfway between horrified and _concerned_?

“… Has anything happened?” Theon asks.

“… Have you checked your phone?” Ygritte asks.

“I haven’t. For like, the entire last week. I had a falling out with a few people and I didn’t want to be distracted. Why?”

Sam looks as white as a sheet. “I’d turn it on if I were you.”

Theon grabs it and does.

The first thing he sees is a _slew_ of messages from Asha – they’re all _CALL ME_ , WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, LOOK AT THE NEWS, FOR FUCK’S SAKE THEON.

… _Look at the news_?

He swipes her texts away and goes on the internet, googling himself. He clicks, _news_ , and –

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he blurts out.

That asshole really sent his pictures to the Daily Mail.

On _Sunday_.

Which means that _they’ve been out in the world for an entire fucking day_.

Shit, shit, shit, _shit_.

“That asshole. I can’t believe he really – oh, _fuck_.”

“Hey,” Ygritte says, “no one’s judging you for your tastes, if –”

“Ygritte, these are _not_ my tastes,” he groans.

“… Sorry?” Sam asks, sounding slightly horrified, again.

“Hey,” Dacey says a moment later, “she’s right, no one _here_ cares, but – not your tastes?”

Well, the cat is out of the bag. He looks at _which_ pictures were released.

Of course, the ones with the other guys’ face hidden and where it looks like he’s enjoying it.

He wants to throw up.

“Did they say where these come from?” He can’t bring himself to read the article.

“Anonymous tip,” Clegane says.

“Okay. Well, fuck – it was Ramsay Bolton taking them. Every other guy in the picture is someone from the crew of that bloody fucking show of theirs. And it was my third day there of those three months I was on it for that guest star arc. He said we should go get something to drink. Then he spiked it.”

“ _What the fuck_ ,” Ygritte blurs.

“I wasn’t – I didn’t even understand what the fuck was going on for how much I was out of it, _that_ time. The next morning he tried to convince me I actually agreed and just drank more than I should have. I didn’t even remember he took pictures until a few weeks after the fact. And –” Shit. Here it goes. Well, he has to tell them, especially if he still wants to finish this damned film, and if he wants them to know what the hell they have to deal with now. “It happened. Other times.”

Now everyone is looking at him as if they’re _really_ disturbed.

“You mean –” Jon starts.

“I mean that I don’t remember half of what happened on that show because that asshole slipped _a lot_ of shit I shouldn’t have ever touched into my drinks. Or my fucking water in the damned changing room. And the last time he did it, he wanted to convince me to sign on for the next season, which – would have implied accepting to lose an unhealthy amount of weight, and I think I would have signed but I couldn’t even hold the pen for how fucking out of it I was, and thankfully the next morning I realized and – it was the last day of shooting, so I hightailed the fuck out of there and told them they could forget that I’d return. And – they wanted me back. He convinced my agent that I should take the part, then said he’d release the pictures if I didn’t. I refused, I didn’t really think he’d risk that, but – well. That’s – that’s it.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Jon whispers. Theon can see him figuring out _why_ exactly he was so familiar with Jon’s own plights.

He takes a deep breath.

“Dacey, listen, I know this is bad press, so – I don’t know what you want to do, but –”

“Stop right there,” she interrupts him. “I felt sick just _hearing_ that and – if you were implying that I might want to replace you, stop there. First, we have no time to find _another lead_. Second, you were my first choice and when you accepted I just – I couldn’t even believe it worked out at the first try, and like hell I’m changing my mind because of this. Third, on _this_ set, you’ve been nothing short of professional and I’d be a fucking idiot if I decided to fire you because of this bloody asshole. Hey, even if it’s bad press it’s always press. The social media managers here can find a way to turn this to our advantage.”

Pyp gives her a nod. “Sure. I mean, it’s advertising. Somehow. I don’t think it’d harm the movie. Never mind that it’s not family friendly anyway, you aren’t losing _that_ part of the audience.”

“Great. So, as far as I’m concerned, this matters absolutely nothing to _this_ production. We’ll make it work. Now, can you do your scene today or you want some time to fix this mess?”

Theon kind of wants to cry – he _did_ luck out, at least when it comes to this crew. “I – no, I can do it. To be honest, I don’t even want to _fix this mess_ right now. I just – I’ll go change and call a few people and then I’ll be in make-up.”

“Excellent. Go, we’ll be waiting.”

He heads straight to his trailer, then takes in a few deep breaths and dials Asha’s number.

She picks up in a second.

“ _Finally_ ,” she says. “Wouldn’t even let me give you some heads up, huh?”

He sighs. “I just – I had a very nice week-end and I didn’t want to ruin it with Barbrey’s shit. Guess I was wrong, huh?”

“Theon, you could have said –”

“Asha, I _wasn’t consenting to anything that happened in those bloody pictures_.”

For a long moment, she says nothing.

“What did you just say?”

“He spiked my drinks. For all the time I worked on that show. You see why I didn’t want to go back? And I haven’t gone to a therapist to figure out why I had _attachment issues_ , I went there because I did that guest role on what was that show, the one where Tyrion Lannister plays the sociopath-but-not-that-much MD, and I almost had a fucking panic attack when the person who was playing the nurse had to fake _taking my blood pressure._ ”

“ _Why_ didn’t you press charges?”

“Don’t you think he’d have found a way to make it pass as if I was agreeing? Asha, they’re too powerful in the field. I had no chance there. But, like, _that_ is why I didn’t want to go with them.”

“… Shit. Shit. Okay, listen, I just – I’m going to have Dad’s hide and I’ll see if I can do some damage control. But – er, I just, I might have had a few calls since I’m the next of kin that most people found available. And it’s not good news.”

“Shoot.”

“Barbrey obviously dropped you and her entire agency also did.”

“ _Excellent_. That means I’m not doing that coffee machines commercial when I’m back, right?”

“Nope, they withdrew from the agreement. And, did you have two guest star roles booked two months from now in that ridiculous procedural set in Spain and that soap on BBC3 –”

“I don’t have them anymore, do I?”

“Sorry. I have a feeling I’ll get more of those calls, but –”

“Whatever. Who gives a fuck. Listen, I just – I want to finish here. They said they have no problem with it. I _really_ want this movie to work. For now, just accept it if they fire me or whatever and I’ll pick up the pieces when I’m back, okay?”

“Okay. Fine. I’ll deal with it. And – Christ, I’m sorry. You could have said.”

 _Maybe_ , Theon thinks. “Well, I doubt it’d have changed much. And – I couldn’t really talk about it. Sorry. I just – I’ll see you soon.”

“Right. I hope this movie’s worth it.”

“It is,” Theon replies, and – it is, indeed. And it’s going to be _even more worth it_ , if he can actually avoid Robb getting overtly mad at him since now he’s definitely going to find out before Theon comes back. He might not have a television, but people in Barrowtown  _actually fucking do_. Shit. Shit. _Shit_. He should have said during the weekend.

He’s –

He’s going to do his job and deal with the fallout later.

\--

He puts on his clothes. He goes to make-up, where thankfully Gilly doesn’t tell him anything and pretends everything is business as usual.

He goes on set. Everyone is ready and – bless them – they try to behave as nothing went down, which is good, because _he really can fucking use it_.

They start shooting.

Everything swimmingly for – he doesn’t know how long, but enough to shoot him dragging Ygritte through half of the town without the comedic value it had in the original movie, until they get to what’s supposed to be Tormund’s house. They get through all their lines before Tormund throws the first punch. They get through the next shots of him throwing back the second (obviously, they’re faking it, but with all the practicing they did, it comes easy.)

They’re taking a break before they move farther down the road – this entire day will require a _lot_ of moving – and Jon’s snapping pictures here and there (especially _at_ Ygritte), and he’s wondering if he should turn on his phone again, and then –

“So _that_ ’s where you went to hide.”

 _What the hell_.

Theon’s blood goes cold as he stands up from the rock near the river where he had been sitting on.

“ _What_ are you doing here?” He spits in Ramsay Bolton’s face, not even bothering to hide his disgust.

“Well, it wasn’t a secret that you were here. Then I got the confirmation when I saw all those _nice_ pictures on the production’s Facebook account. I figured I’d come here and _visit_.”

“Hey,” Dacey says, interrupting him. “This is my bloody set. You had no authorization –”

“ _Darling_ , it cost nothing to give the security guy a few quid, and given that _my father_ owns enough production companies that he could tell a few people to _not_ buy this movie, I suggest you shut the fuck up.”

Theon can see that Dacey’s getting worked up, so he figures he’d better do damage control.

“Leave it,” he says, “I can handle him.”

“Oh, _you_ can handle me? Adorable. And really, Theon, come on. Are you playing with children? Don’t waste your time and do the reasonable thing.”

“What, ruin my health for the likes of _you_? Fucking forget it.”

“Aren’t you moved that I came all this way just to convince you?”

“No, because I didn’t ask you to and _no one_ fucking invited you. I haven’t pressed charges because I know I have no hope to actually find someone who’d take me seriously, but if you think I’m coming back to your bloody set, _forget it_.”

“Oh, so you really don’t want to work anymore?”

“I’ll find some local theater that will have me. I don’t care if you tell everyone in fucking Hollywood to stop hiring me. I’m not working with you for _any_ reason.”

“Not even if I threaten to buy a certain building in the next town over?”

If before Theon’s blood had gone cold, now it’s in the range of Antarctic temperatures.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“You think I didn’t send someone to check on you when I had that many refusals? Your agent was only too happy to give me the location.”

Barbrey’s going to – he doesn’t know _what_ , but if he gets out of this, he’ll make her life hell.

“And I saw you getting cozy with that cute pub owner in the last few days. That’d be too bad if I bought out the place and used it for, well, _anything else_.”

“You _can’t_ buy a building just like that.”

“I’m sure the mayor would love to hear my offer. Strings can be pulled, especially when the town’s finances are what they are.”

“Don’t you even _dare_ ,” Theon spits back. “You can’t do it, your surname doesn’t make you fucking untouchable and you have no right to fuck with other people’s lives.”

“Are you that sure?”

Then he moves closer, and _closer_ , and –

“Come on,” he whispers, “you know that being _Reek_ wasn’t so bad, was it?”

His first instinct is throwing up in the creep’s face.

Instead, he closes his fist, tucks his thumb under index and middle finger, tightens it (he hasn’t taken boxing lessons for weeks just to forget them) and punches Ramsay in the side, hard enough that he gets off him.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he hisses, and then Ramsay looks up at him.

He’s not smiling anymore, not that it makes his fucking worm-like lips look any more fascinating than they usually are (as in, _they’re not_ – Theon still needs to understand _how_ he has survived three seasons on cable playing the protagonist in his crappy show when he acts mediocrely, has zero presence when it comes to anything but creeping people out and is just nasty to look at, but then again he’s an asshole protagonist, _so_ ).

“Now you shouldn’t have done _that_ ,” he says.

“Fuck you,” Theon spits back.

“Your funeral,” Ramsay says, and then Theon barely manages to duck before the asshole _punches him in the face_ – he manages to hit the side of his mouth hard enough that he has to spit blood a moment after, and shit, he’s going to have a bruise, won’t he –

He’s about to punch back, and then –

“So you’re the guy who wants to buy out my fucking pub?”

Wait –

 _What the hell is Robb doing here_?

Ramsay turns towards his back…

Where Robb is indeed standing, looking pissed to hell and back and like he’s absolutely _not_ pleased to be here.

Shit.

 _Shit_. He always saw Robb being _awful nice_ , but now that he’s pissed off –

Now that he’s pissed off, Theon thinks he’d hate to be on the other side of that stare.

“And you’re the guy who doesn’t even know what _he_ does for a living?”

 _Shit_.

“Actually, I do. I mean, my brother told me this morning because he didn’t want me to find out from the local gossips, and he told me to come here, and I did, and I’m glad that I’ve done it.”

“Really.”

“Well, before I got here, I admit I might’ve been _somewhat_ pissed off at him. Now that I see you, I’m really not. And you really should fucking leave.”

“ _Robb Stark_ , I’m not leaving if I don’t know he’s coming back to my set.”

“Your – what’s your name, again? Sorry, I don’t own a television.”

Theon doesn’t know if he wants to cry or laugh at Ramsay being completely thrown off at the prospect that someone _doesn’t know who he is_. Serves him fucking well.

“Never mind. Mister _I take advantage of people and then try to ruin their reputation_ , you aren’t allowed to be here, when the police _inevitably_ comes because someone’s calling them you won’t manage to bribe them to let you stay and it seems to me like he’s told you more than once that he doesn’t want to do your show. If I were you, I’d leave.”

“I’m sure as hell not, and my name is –”

“I don’t _care_ what your name is, I care that you just threatened to destroy _my_ business to ruin _his_ life and I’m pretty sure Grenn over there is filming everything.”

“ _What_ –” Ramsay starts, turning to his right, where Grenn – who is in place of the sick camera operator today – is indeed filming everything, and he tries to go for him, but Robb moves in between the two of them.

“I think you’ll have to get through me,” Robb says amiably.

Then he ducks the first punch Ramsay throws, and then –

Then he punches him across the nose hard enough that he sends him flying some two meters from where they were standing.

 _What_ –

Ramsay tries for it again. Robb moves to the side and gets him in the side, then in the chest, then on the jaw, and _shit_ , he’s good at this and his knuckles are covered in blood but he’s not being _too_ fazed. Meanwhile, Ramsay’s seething and –

And he has a hand on a _small knife that he had hidden in his boots_ –

“Okay, we’re done,” Jon says, coming up from behind him and getting Ramsay’s neck in a vice-like grip.

“What –” Ramsay wheezes.

“Listen, I figured it was _his_ fight first and then Robb’s, but this already went on too much and no one needs a lawsuit happening here. We have it on camera that it’s your fault, so if I were you I’d wait for the police to be here, bail your way out of here and pretend you never did this, unless they want to press charges. By the way, if you try to do anything, I have a hand on your larynx. I’m leaving it be, but I can crush it in a split second, and if you think you can trick me somehow, don’t. I was in the military for _years_ and I know fifteen different ways to cause your throat permanent damage, so _don’t_.”

“… That was badass,” Pyp says, not bothering to keep his voice low. Ygritte looks _turned on_ , what the hell, and Jon sounds deadly serious, and Ramsay is not moving, _good thing that_.

“Grenn, keep on filming. We might need it,” Dacey whispers, but Theon isn’t hearing it. Theon stands up, dusts off his trousers and walks up to Robb, who looks… fondly exasperated, but not angry.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I wanted to tell you today. I really wanted to. I just – I was an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, good thing _Jon_ did. But really, can I just know why? I wouldn’t have cared.”

“I _know_ now. But when I came into Winterfell’s and you treated me like – your regular client, I couldn’t fucking believe it. It was – the first time in years. And – I didn’t know we’d end up – well, I _liked_ you, but I didn’t think I’d actually have the guts to go for it. Whenever _anyone_ knows who I am, their opinion automatically changes. I didn’t want that. I was a complete idiot, I guess.”

“Maybe,” Robb sighs, “but given that Jon _did_ somehow explain that shit to me when he warned me about the pictures, given that I just saw the reason why you might be paranoid about a lot of things and – I imagine _he_ is the reason you understood at once what was going on that second evening?”

“Yeah. Among other things. Anyway. I was going to tell you tonight. I also was going to ask you if knowing _that_ and so on you would be amenable to… _not_ turn whatever _this_ is into the damned _Bridges of Madison County_ , and I wasn’t going to mention those pictures because – just _no_ , but now you know about _that_ and you know everything else, so. Ball’s in your court, I guess.”

“When you say you don’t want us to be the new Robert and Francesca of Mayo County, you mean that… you want this to be a real relationship?”

“We can figure something out. If you want to, obviously. I mean, I know I kind of don’t deserve it, but –”

He stops when Robb’s bruised hand grabs his. “Case is,” he says, “I don’t give a fuck about those pictures and I don’t give a fuck that you might be famous or whatever – I haven’t watched television in _years_ and I know the person who walked into my humble establishment. A person I happen to _like_ very much. And who about took a punch to the face for my humble establishment, so I think I can forgive you a few lies you told for a… well, understandable reasons.”

“You mean –”

“I mean that I want to date you, damn it,” Robb says, and a moment later he’s grabbed Theon’s face between his hand and he’s kissing him _in front of everyone Ramsay included_ and shit, wait, _when did he end up in one of those romantic comedies they never cast him in_ –

Who the fuck cares, he thinks, and kisses him back just as soundly, and everyone else is clapping and Theon can’t really fucking give a damn about everything else, especially when Robb’s _obviously_ meaning it and giving him that kind of romantic-comedy-final-kiss that makes your knees go weak as he cradles his face.

Ramsay, who’s still in Jon’s grip, looks _livid_ when they part and Theon glances his way.

Too bad that the police are there a moment later – Jon throws Ramsay at an agent, Dacey goes talking to them and he’s taken away in a few minutes, and all along Robb has an arm around his waist and shit, doesn’t it feel good.

“So,” Ygritte says, “you’re the infamous older brother?”

“Oh,” Robb says, “you’re the infamous girlfriend, aren’t you?”

They look at each other for a moment and then burst into laughter, _good thing that_.

“Good thing we’re all having fun, but I think we have a problem,” Dacey says.

“As in?” Theon asks.

“Your nose wasn’t supposed to be bloody for the next... four scenes or so. And even in make-up, the bruise is going to be obvious.”

“Don’t we have some body double?” Clegane asks, looking like someone who has _entirely_ enjoyed the scene.

“With whose money were you going to pay any body doubles?” Sam asks, and then – “Oh. _Oh_.”

“Okay, what?” Dacey asks.

“Jon, you could do it.”

“ _What_?”

Sam shrugs. “You’re more or less the same height, you both have dark hair, if we keep your face hidden no one’s going to realize it’s someone else. And I think you can throw a punch or fifteen.”

Dacey zeroes in on Jon, too. “… Snow, leave Sam that camera and get to make-up _right now_ if you’re up for it.”

“ _What_? I can’t act, are you serious?”

“You have to throw punches, not act,” Theon laughs. “You’d manage.”

Jon just _stares_ at them, shaking his head. “People. I can’t – I can’t _punch people faking it_. No one taught me to _fake it_. I can try but I doubt I’d manage.”

“Oh,” Tormund says, “that means I get a _real_ fight?”

“Yeah, he’s like that,” Ygritte shrugs.

“You _really_ are that excited to have _a real fight_?” Jon asks.

“Jon,” Robb says, “even if it went like when _you_ taught me that stuff, it’s not like the bruise lasted for more than three days.”

“Hey,” Ygritte tells him, “you don’t _have_ to do that.” Her voice is suddenly _very_ serious. “But if you want to, Gilly’s in make-up.”

Jon stares some more. Then he shrugs and takes off his jacket. “ _Fine_. Your funeral if I actually hit you.”

Tormund claps him on the back loud enough that Jon kind of shouts, but he doesn’t look like he’s freaking out.

“I guess I should go with him and get the blood washed off, right?” Theon asks.

“Get your ass to make-up, too,” Dacey agrees. “And congratulations. Robb, nice seeing you again.”

“Dacey, what the hell, why didn’t I know it was _you_ shooting this damned movie?”

“Hey, you made clear you didn’t want to act for me years ago, I figured you didn’t need to know. And if I had known I was employing your brother – never mind. You want a first-row seat for the next few hours?”

Robb thinks about it for a moment, and then –

“You know what, fuck it. I can take a day off. Sure. Where do I go?”

As Theon heads for the make-up trailer that’s been following them along, he thinks that after all this hasn’t been _such_ a terrible day.

Not at all.

\--

At sunset, they shot the entire fight scene, Theon taking his rightful place after they had enough film with Jon taking punches in his place, and they also shoot him and Tormund _finally_ reaching an understanding after punching the living daylights out of each other, and Dacey sends everyone home.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” she says, “and tomorrow we have half of the ending scenes. Don’t come back hungover.”

It’s a tempting prospect, Theon thinks, but not one he can consider right now.

“Hey,” Robb tells Jon, as soon as they’re out of make-up with their regular clothes, “I was thinking, what if _you_ and your girlfriend go home and make sure Bran and Rickon don’t accidentally set the kitchen on fire while I have a _long_ talk with him at his place?”

“If she’s game,” Jon shrugs.

“Oh, I’m meeting the rest of the family already? Sure. I’m amenable. We can all pile up in the car I rented.”

She sure as hell rolls with the punches, Theon decides.

Half an hour later, he’s up in his room at Davos Seaworth’s with Robb in tow and Jon and Ygritte are on their way to the pub, he supposes.

Robb is thumbing through the script.

“Wow,” he says, “you really must have liked it.”

It’s obvious from the way he annotated most of it, Theon figures. He’s written _something_ on every damned page, from observations to changes to the lines and so on. He might have filled it with extra notes if he didn’t have space on the script itself.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I just – I couldn’t believe I was their first choice.”

“Dacey was singing your praises for having basically come here for nothing before.”

“I’m still not bankrupt, for now at least. Who knows after this deal with the pictures. I might really need to go back to theater.”

“You don’t seem too sad about it.”

“Are you serious? No one outside theater fanatics knew who the hell I was back then. I’d take it in a heartbeat.”

Robb laughs and puts away the script, moving closer. “Hey,” he says, “just so you know, I can’t give a fuck about the pictures. I mean, obviously, I give a fuck in the sense that no one should _ever_ go through that, but like, they change nothing. I mean, it’s not as if it was something I hadn’t seen before, right?”

Theon thinks he’s never laughed in purer relief in his entire life. He drops down sitting on the bed and motions for Robb to join him there.

“No,” he agrees, “and – well, good to know that. If only all of my possible employers were like you.”

“Hey,” Robb says, “I’m sure you’ll work it out. From what I’ve seen, you’re good – gossip comes and goes, skills don’t.”

“To be honest, I just want to finish this one movie and finish it well, then – who cares, honest. I’ll live. Meanwhile – I was serious when I said I didn’t want us to be the next Clint and Meryl.”

Robb’s side presses up against his, Robb’s head falling against his shoulder. “I heard that. Did you have anything in mind yet?”

“I’m amenable to long distance,” he says, “but since the last two weeks I have rented here are for menial extra work, if you felt like taking some time off and we could, you know, go _somewhere else_ or you could come here or whatever – I mean, I’d like that. Also, because if then we have to do long distance, I’d like to see you as much as I can _before_ I have to leave.”

“I think,” Robb says, “that I’m _amenable_ to everything you just said.”

“Beware,” Theon says, his hand going to the back of Robb’s head, his fingers threading through his hair, “you _will_ get paparazzi at your door at some point.”

“Good. More clients. What do they even usually ask anyway?”

“Mh, _how it feels to be dating this or that movie star_ , usually. When they’re harassing their non-famous significant others.”

“Too bad I’d have just one reply to that.”

“As in?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as one. I _will_ look your movies up, though.”

“As long as you don’t ever watch _that_ show.”

“Don’t you worry, I wouldn’t if they paid me to.”

“I can live with the movies, then,” Theon says, his breath getting caught in his throat as Robb’s arm goes around his waist.

 _I could get used to this_ , he thinks, looking at the hills covered in green just outside his window. _Damn it, I really could_.

 

 

_EPILOGUE_

 

 

 

> _a star is (re)born_ :
> 
> _**Q &A with Theon Greyjoy, a year after: “I wouldn’t change a thing. No, especially taking a break from cinema. Shakespeare is a lot less stressful.”** _
> 
> by Arianne Martell
> 
>  

Born in London, Theon Greyjoy, freshly turned 31, made his professional debut playing Paris in a small but prize-winning production of _Romeo and Juliet_ in Manchester when he was nineteen. His first film appearance was in the low-budget cult movie _Hamlet Reloaded_ , an adaptation set in a dystopian futuristic scenario. He has another fifteen movies on his CV, most recently the critically acclaimed remake of _The Quiet Man,_ director Dacey Mormont’s first major movie, who has also been the star of the indie movie awards scenery in the UK and outside it, too. He has also won a BIFA award for his updated portrayal of Sean Thornton. He’s currently taking a break from the film industry to fulfill a lifelong dream: playing _Hamlet_ on a West End stage. After spending most of his life in London, he’s currently living in Dublin.

 

> **When were you happiest?**
> 
> I don’t know if I can say it publicly, but let’s say, about a month ago.
> 
> **Cryptic. Can you give us any hint?**
> 
> Sorry, no. But You will find out soon, I think.
> 
> **Fair. Let’s move on: what is your greatest fear?**
> 
> My therapist would say, people being disappointed in who I am, I guess. I suppose she’s right. Hey, I never actually _thought_ about that kind of shit before.
> 
> **What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?**
> 
> That I tried to keep friendly relationships with my father until last year, and I should have just stopped the moment I went into the academy.
> 
> **What was your most embarrassing moment?**
> 
> Ask Dacey Mormont if you ever interview her.
> 
> **What is your most treasured possession?**
> 
> The script of my latest movie.
> 
> **What is your phone wallpaper?**
> 
> Marlon Brando playing Mark Anthony in _Julius Caesar_. I have to start getting in the right frame of mind, since it’s my next item on my bucket list.
> 
> **Who would play you in the film of your life?**
> 
> F*ck, please never put that idea in anyone’s head. No one should ever make a movie out of my life.
> 
> **What do you owe your parents?**
> 
> Everything good I have going for myself, it was because I mostly took after my mother. To my father… well, I don’t think I owe him shit, admittedly.
> 
> **What does love feel like?**
> 
> Ireland.
> 
> **That’s a bit of a cryptic answer.**
> 
> But it’s the true one.
> 
> **Which living person do you most despise?**
> 
> The showrunners of the last TV show I did. Unless you count whoever dragged us into Brexit, but that goes unsaid.
> 
> **Who would you invite to your dream dinner party?**
> 
> Shakespeare, Marlon Brando, Axl Rose, Samuel Beckett, John Ford, John Wayne, my mother and my significant other. For reasons.
> 
> **What is the worst job you’ve done?**
> 
> A Storm of Swords. I’ve never been happier to hear the network realized what was going on behind the scenes and canceled that garbage.
> 
> **When did you last cry, and why?**
> 
> Last month. It was for good reasons, though.
> 
> **How often do you have sex?**
> 
> I used to have it at least once per day. Now it’s… well, _less_ , but for good reasons.
> 
> **What is the closest you’ve come to death?**
> 
> Any point during the three months I was on _Storm of Swords_.
> 
> **What single thing would improve the quality of your life?**
> 
> It already happened. It was accepting to do _The Quiet Man_.
> 
> **What do you consider your greatest achievement?**
> 
> Having gotten my shit straight last year.
> 
> **How would you like to be remembered?**
> 
> Not as the guy who got tortured in _Storm of Swords_.
> 
> **What is the most important lesson life has taught you?**
> 
> Try to not fuck up, but if you do, trust people to see the best in you. I guess.
> 
> **That’s deep. Where would you most like to be right now?**
> 
> Either on stage or in Dublin, but I’ll take being here.
> 
> **What song would you like played at your funeral?**
> 
> U2’s _Unknown Caller_.
> 
> **Tell us a joke.**
> 
> The past, the present and the future walked into a bar. It was _tense_.
> 
> **Tell us a secret.**
> 
> If I did, it wouldn’t be one anymore, would it?

 

_A month before_

 

“I have news,” Theon tells Robb as he drops his backpack on the ground of the living room.

“Good news?” Robb asks, but he’s grinning back at him, so he must have understood.

“Let’s say Stannis might have found someone who wants to do _Julius Caesar_. In _Dublin_. Two months after I’m done with _Hamlet_.” Theon had no fucking clue that his former landlord’s best friend actually was a retired theater agent – when Davos told him he organized a meeting and Stannis agreed to get out of his self-imposed retirement to manage him (because he got entirely fed up with the environment, not that Theon blames him since there’s a reason he’s not doing movie right now) he had about fainted.

But didn’t he gain in return, if compared to fucking Barbrey.

“He _didn’t_.”

“Let’s say I have an audition three days from now.”

“For whichever role, or –”

“For whichever role, in theory, but Stannis might have told the director that I’ve had the _friends, Romans, countrymen_ speech ready for auditioning since years.”

“Wow,” Robb says. “ _Wow_. If it’s three days, though –”

“Yeah. It’s on Friday. I thought you might come with, if you can afford closing down the shop for a day?”

Jon might have taken his place up until a few months ago, but Dacey called him because after the slew of awards _The Quiet Man_ won, she managed to get decent funding for the follow-up and she wants _him_ to take set pictures and help out in pre-production, so he’s off to Scotland to do it (sleeping at Ygritte’s in Edinburgh, of course, and Theon can’t still _not_ find it funny that both of them got hitched on that damned set), and is probably not going to be back until it’s done filming. Dacey told Theon that she has a script _just for him_ saved when he wants to come back to movies and he will one day.

Just not this one.

“I can,” Robb says, without even thinking about it. “Business is pretty damned slow right now anyway. Shit, sometimes I wonder why the hell am I even still here.”

“… Sorry?”

Robb shrugs as Theon sits next to him on the sofa. “I was born here, sure, but I don’t really _like_ it. I mean, it’s okay, but that’s it. I took over the shop because there were no other options. And it’s cheap, of course. But – Bran is out of high school this summer, and Rickon thinks this place is fucking boring and doesn’t particularly _like_ anyone he hangs out with. There’s really nothing keeping me here. Except that I don’t know any other line of work and at least here the costs are contained.”

Theon had _thought_ about asking, but then hadn’t, because it seemed too forward and they’ve dated for a year, but maybe it’s still a bit too soon.

But –

“What if I told you that the guy who runs the local pub under my apartment in Dublin wants to retire?”

“ _What_?”

“He told me last time I was there. He’s approaching seventy and he doesn’t have a family or knows anyone who’d take over. And he says he wants to take a goddamned break. I don’t know if he’s looking to sell or to rent, but – the place comes with its own apartment. Coincidentally, below mine. And no one’s asked him yet.”

Robb stops dead in his tracks and _looks_ at him. “You’re saying –”

“That if you want to come to Dublin and stay in your current line of work, you only have to ask him, I guess. I mean, I think you have the money at least for renting.”

“Of course I do, I mean, I don’t spend most of what I can spare. Shit. In _your_ building?”

“Indeed. So, is it too soon, or –”

“Given that I’d have to move in the summer, there’s time to finalize things and look it over. But – I think it could be a good idea. I’m tired of this fucking place and I’m sure Rickon would like a _city_ better than this darned place. And other than that – it’d be – shit, just under your apartment. Really?”

“Really. So, is it too soon to consider it, or –”

“For _us_ , it’s been a year. For me, it’s been _ten_ here. Also, you moved from _London_ to be closer, I think I can pay you back that favor.”

Robb’s smile is blinding as he leans down and kisses Theon, and Theon doesn’t waste time kissing back.

“Wow,” he says as they part, “so, I suppose we should just go for it?”

“Yeah,” Robb agrees. “If it’s gone this well until now – honest, I’m tired of long distance. And it’s been too long since I did something for _myself_. I think I’m ready for a change.”

He sounds sure as he says it before grabbing Theon’s t-shirt and hauling him in again, and Theon can’t tell him because he’s otherwise occupied,

(same as he can’t tell him three other little words yet, he thought he would now, but he thinks he will when they’re actually living together and _he can’t wait_ to do it)

but he’ll tell him later.

And for now, he thinks –

_Yeah, so am I._

 

 

 

End.


End file.
